A Goblin Straight Out of Hell
by Gobby1
Summary: ***FINISHED***// Movie-verse // Norman Osborn aka Green Goblin returns from the dead *evil laugh*, Peter tries to defend against this much stronger Goblin.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** This goes out to all the Goblin fans who were devastated with me when he died in the movie. I figured, what the hell, let's bring him back. Hope you enjoy.  
  
_This is a movie-verse fan fiction that takes place after the end of the movie. Thus, spoilers are abundant, yada yada.  
  
_Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to the author (although I'm working on a plan to get the money to buy Willem Dafoe with ^_^)... ergo... they're not mine.  
  
**Another Note**: Any words in _italics_ are the Goblin's words and thoughts of various characters.  
  
  
  
  


**_  
A Goblin Straight Out of Hell  
_**by Gobby  


  
  
  
  
  
Peter Parker stood in the graveyard, gazing at the tombstone in front of him. He sniffed hard and blinked back tears, tilting his head back to look at the darkening sky. The gray blanket of clouds threatened rain, and a wind blew forlornly through the cemetery. A squirrel scurried across the grass, hurrying to get out of the impending storm. The dreary day mirrored Peter's mood.   
  
It had been months since his Uncle Ben Parker was shot in a car jacking. Months, and still Peter's heart twisted inside him when he remembered his last real words to his uncle.   
_  
I know I'm not your father Peter.  
  
Then stop pretending to be!_  
  
Shame and guilt colored his face, and Peter shut his eyes against the tears. "I'm sorry, Uncle Ben," he whispered. He'd hunted the murderer down himself and killed him, but the experience had done nothing to ease the pain. Instead, it had left him feeling empty inside for a while. The emotional wound was healing, but it was still very painful.   
  
As he turned to leave, his gaze passed over the far corner of the cemetery. One grave stood out to him as though in a spotlight. The white stone was still fairly new, grass not yet grown thickly over the dirt mound. Peter hesitated for a moment, and then slowly walked to the grave, as though drawn to it. Peter felt almost as though he owed it to him to see his grave. He stood staring at the sky for a full minute before he brought himself to read the simple words on the tombstone.  
  
Norman Osborn 1949-2002 Loving father, He will live forever in the hearts of those who knew him.  
  
Peter stood lost in memory, scratching absently at an old wound on his left forearm. It had been deep, but was scabbed over and healing.   
"Shoot."  
  
He had scratched too hard and drawn blood. A large drop appeared at the edge of the cut, crimson against his white skin. He shook his arm, wincing at the pain. A drop of blood landed on the grave and immediately disappeared into the thirsty soil. Peter rubbed the cut for a moment, grimacing, and then dropped his arm to his side. He read the tombstone again. Once more, memories assaulted him, and he bowed his head sadly and walked out of the graveyard as the evening turned to night.  
  
  
  
Not long after the young man had left, it began to rain. Water swirled through the air in whirlpools as the wind picked up and began to push and attack the trees. A feeling of foreboding came to the air. The first clap of thunder shook the night, the mocking laughter of a huge beast. Ominous black clouds swirled in the sky as the wind howled in fury. More thunder boomed and lightning flashed, illuminating the cemetery for a brief moment. The ground shook as the thunder crashed once more.  
And suddenly.....it stopped.  
  
All was calm.  
  
A hand erupted from the dirt in front of a grave. Another hand appeared beside it, and something exploded out of the dirt, a geyser spraying mud and water across the cemetery. A man staggered from the grave, then stood looking around, dazed and disoriented.   
  
Norman Osborn squinted through the rain, trying to remember what had happened and how he'd gotten there. Smoothing his wet and disarrayed hair back out of his face, he shook his head hard and racked his brain.  
His eyes widened as he took in his surroundings. The vaguely unsettled feeling in his stomach grew. It was night and he was standing, seemingly alone, in the pouring rain in a cemetery with no memory of what happened. The dark tombstones rose in the night like crouching beasts, ready to spring at him. Thunder crashed ominously, and a strange feeling hung over him, a feeling of lost time, as though he's been asleep for a very, very long while.   
Feeling in his pockets for his wallet, his keys, or anything to prove who he was, Norman was baffled to discover his black suit was covered in mud and worn. His search was in vain. The pockets were empty. He instinctively glanced at his wrist, but even his watch was gone. Why would he have left the house without his keys, wallet and watch? Why was he alone in the cemetery? He stared into space for a moment, trying with all his might to remember what in the hell he was doing there.  
  
An open grave was behind him. He could feel it, like the eyes of Death himself were watching him. With a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach, he slowly turned to look at the tombstone behind him, the tombstone of the newly disturbed grave. The dark hole gaped like a hungry mouth. A terrible nightmarish fear filled him as his eyes played over the tombstone. He read it three times before realizing what it meant.  
  
A shaking hand stretched toward the cold stone, Norman swallowed hard and braced himself. The stone was rough and cold to the touch. Norman snatched his hand away as though burned. The cruel words screamed at him. He shook his head, slowly at first, and then hard and vigorously, denying the proof in front of him. "But I'm not dead....I'm standing here, for God's sake, talking to myself in the rain, I'm not dead!"  
Something lurked in the back of his head, a disturbing thought that he couldn't put a finger on. He peered into the darkness, looking for…..he didn't know what he was looking for. Maybe the person there with him. He could feel someone else was there, watching him. Faint laughter came to his ears. Norman rubbed his ears, figuring he was either insane or in hell or dreaming. The maniacal cackle grew, so it soon rang in his head. The hideous laughter was somehow familiar, horribly familiar to him, but he didn't know how. He spun wildly, searching for the owner of the laugh, somehow knowing he would see no one.  
  
"Is.....is somebody there?"  
_  
Somebody!  
_  
Norman gasped at the voice and memories came rushing back to him. He remembered the night in the lab...the experiment....the death of Dr. Stromm....  
  
Dr. Stromm's murder, he corrected himself.  
  
The government testing grounds and General Slocum......the World Unity Festival.....  
  
He remembered everything.  
  
And he remembered Spiderman. And who he was.   
  
Norman's face set in determination as the other mind in his head snapped back to full strength. And he realized what he needed to do.  
  
  
  
Peter opened the door to the apartment he shared with Harry Osborn and shrugged out of his wet coat. He felt like a drowned rat, having run the fifteen blocks from the cemetery in the rain, unable to flag down a cab or bus. He chuckled silently, thinking it was a curse from his high school years.   
  
"Anybody home?"  
  
Harry poked his head out of his room. "Hey Peter. Where were you?"  
  
Peter threw his keys on the kitchen counter. "The cemetery."  
  
Harry's face dropped and he nodded. "I go there, too, sometimes."  
  
Peter sadly nodded, knowing how much his friend missed his father. He quickly changed the subject to something lighter. Corporate businesses. "So have you decided what to do with Oscorp?"  
  
Harry ran a hand through his disheveled hair and blew the air out of his cheeks. The weight of his conflict was evident in the shadows under his eyes and the droop of his broad shoulders. "I don't know. I know Dad didn't want to sell it, but I don't know how to run a corporate business. He was the business man, not me. I'm thinking of just selling it."  
  
Peter gazed out at the wet night. "I would've thought you'd keep it. Seeing as how it was doing so well."  
  
Harry threw his hands in the air. "See? That's the thing I'm wrestling with. But wasn't it sold already? Quest Aerospace bought it. Dad was fighting it, but they had it. Board of Directors wanted him to resign. And now that Dad's gone, Quest has backed off. Guess it wouldn't look good, them moving in on a company that lost its CEO and namesake." He blew the air out of his cheeks and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I'm trying to think like Dad, but it's hard."  
  
Peter chuckled to himself. Thinking like Mr. Osborn? Harder than it sounds.  
  
He grabbed his wet jacket again and picked up his keys. "Well, I'm gonna head out for a little while. See what's happening with....."  
  
He trailed off as he realized this may be a sore subject. He was about to say see what's happening with MJ.  
  
Harry nodded curtly. "See ya."  
  
Peter headed out.  
  
  
  
Osborn walked slowly down the street in the rain to the Oscorp buildings. It was late, and the building was empty. After gazing up at the huge silent buildings for a moment, he pushed the door open and entered.  
Wet shoes squishing on the floor, footsteps echoing, Norman walked down to lab C35. The chamber where he'd become who he was meant to be.   
He figured what he was looking for wouldn't be there, but he needed a place to spend the night.   
  
The building was huge and empty, the air stale. No one had been in that particular lab for a while, at least a month. Norman was glad no one was there. Would have been a little hard to explain, their boss come back from the dead. He wondered how long he'd been gone.  
  
"So what happened?"   
  
Now he was questioning himself. Out loud. What his life had turned to.  
_  
What happened? We died, that's what happened. Not so quick on the uptake, are you?_  
  
"You know what I mean. How did I....we......come back?"   
  
The answer was laughter. _ Remember you performance enhancers? Well, let me tell you something. A little puncture wound to the chest? No problem._  
  
"But....I was dead. Performance enhancers don't stop death! Not without side effects!"  
_  
Well. Not without side effects. Remember me? _  
  
Norman barked a laugh.  
_  
We were regenerating. We needed time to come back, to heal, to get even stronger!_  
  
"But how?"  
_  
I'm stronger than death. I've made you stronger than death!_  
  
Norman sat down in a dusty chair, his mind boggled. He still couldn't believe it. He needed proof.  
_  
Why don't you check for the proof, Osborn? You're a scientist. Scientific method and all that. How did you die? _   
  
As though in a daze, Norman rubbed a hand on his chest. He slowly reached under his shirt and rubbed the skin.   
  
Two large scars, newly healed, were on his midsection.  
_  
Like a disease, Osborn. We were killed, but now that we've overcome death, we're even stronger! Like a disease overcoming a cure!_  
_We're strong, Osborn. Strong enough to be almost immortal. Strong enough to take out that disgusting little do gooder. We can do to this time._  
  
Norman nodded, knowing he had no choice. Knowing he would be screaming for it to stop every step of the way, but loving it at the same time.  
_  
We need a few things first, Osborn. Before we can do anything, we to find a few things. And I know where they are._  
  
  
  
Peter rolled over in bed, staring at the ceiling. It was the next morning, and the clouds had passed. Sunlight filled the room.  
  
The night before had been average. Not much action in the crime fighting department. The rain had discouraged most creeps and jerks. A few muggers, one rape attempt, nothing extremely big.   
  
There had been nothing big since the death of the Green Goblin.   
  
Peter unconsciously rubbed the scar on his wrist, the scar he'd earned when he rejected the Goblin's offer of partnership. Something didn't feel right to him. Something was off.  
  
Spider sense?  
  
That couldn't be it, because that was only when he was in real danger, when he was being attacked. Maybe a low key version of it? Maybe he was just sick.   
  
Peter threw back the blankets and stretched, yawning. He felt fine. A little tired perhaps, but that was one of the side effects of having two identities.   
  
Most likely it was just the recent calm. The unusual calm.  
  
The calm before the storm.  
  
Peter shook off the unsettling thought and glanced at the clock.   
Twenty five minutes before work, he'd better get going.   
  
Peter threw some clothes on and grabbed his camera and bag. He shrugged into his jacket and rushed down the stairs to the kitchen. A note was lying on the table. Peter snatched it up as he made his way to the door.  
  
-Peter-  
  
Went to a meeting with the Board of Directors. Deciding what to do with Oscorp. Think I know what to do. Probably won't get home till tonight. See you then  
  
-Harry-  
  
Peter tossed the note in the garbage on his way out the door.  
  
  
  
Norman Osborn stood down the street, in the shadows of a dark alley, watching the apartment building. Last he'd checked, Peter left the house at nine, so he should have been out already. It was ten to nine.   
  
"He's gonna be late," he grumbled, feeling a ridiculous fatherly disapproval. "Maybe he's sick, or not working there anymore."  
_  
He's coming. _  
  
Sure enough, Peter emerged from the apartment a few moments later. He began to rush down the street, apparently noticing the same thing Norman had. Osborn's insides twisted as rage sprang to life in him. He unconsciously rubbed the twin scars through his shirt at the sight of Peter.  
Suddenly, Peter stopped, no more than twenty five yards from Norman, and looked around, eyes narrowed. Osborn stepped back further into the shadows. The owner of one of the largest corporations in the world...well, _was_ the owner of one...skulking in the shadows of an alley.   
_  
Hehehe. Nervous, my little spider?_  
  
Norman stood, motionless, as Peter's eyes searched the street. He visibly shook his head and continued on his way, apparently thinking it was safe.  
_  
Hehehe!_  
  
Norman watched as Peter turned the corner, and he started to leave the alley. He stopped suddenly.  
_  
Go! Now!_  
  
Norman started to take a step forward at the Goblin's command, but stopped himself with a great amount of willpower.  
  
"I can't, Harry's still in there."  
_  
Harry's at Oscorp. Following in the footsteps of dear old daddy._  
  
"How do you know? What is he doing there?"  
_  
You don't remember yet, but I do. We took a stroll early this morning. Harry left early, and left a note for Peter. He also left his door unlocked. Not so smart, is he, Osborn? Maybe we could teach him a little?_  
  
Tempting, but Osborn wasn't about to drag Harry into this. "No," Norman growled through clenched teeth. "You walked into the apartment and read the note? Do you know what you could have done? What if you'd been caught by Peter?"  
_  
Then I would have killed him._  
  
"Don't tell me that. He killed us the first, time, what's to stop him again?"  
_  
No, I killed us the first time. He was gonna take the bait. He must have something that alerts him to danger. An instinct. It was a stupid mistake on my part how we ended up dead._  
  
"Damn right it was a stupid mistake. Can't we just leave him alone?"  
_Do you realize what he did? He killed you! Or tried to! He was going to! _  
Norman nodded. He realized what needed to be done. He was finding it harder to resist the Goblin's persuasion.   
  
Norman emerged from the shadows and swiftly made his way down the street to the building Peter had just exited. The goblin was in control now, moving him down the street. He climbed the steps and pushed open the door, glancing quickly around for any who would recognize him. Keeping his face down as he crossed the relatively quiet lobby to the elevators, he thought about where the next item on his list would be.   
  
Norman strode down the top floor hallway and arrived at Peter and Harry's room. The goblin tried the doorknob, lithe fingers gripping hard. "Oh no. It's locked," he said in a perfectly disappointed voice. He gave a hard twist and heard things inside the knob cracking. "Now it's not."   
  
The Goblin gave a low laugh, and Norman felt the smile on his face. The warped, insane smile that he'd worn many times before.  
  
Swinging the door open quietly, Norman slowly looked around the apartment, seeing it was still very much the same as the last time he'd been there. Memories inundated him.   
  
Having no time to waste reminiscing, he went straight to Peter's bedroom, which was also the way he remembered it. A huge mess.  
Norman quickly ransacked the room, looking in the closet, under the desk, under the table, through the dresser. He made an even bigger mess than the one that had previously occupied the room.   
  
After a few minutes of searching through the closet on his knees, he sat back on his heels and blew the air out of his cheeks. Relief and anger went through him at the same time. It wasn't there.  
_  
Under the bed!_  
  
Norman obediently turned and swept a hand under the bed. It struck something solid. He reached both hands under the bed and pulled out a large wooden chest with a combination lock on it. He looked at the lock for a moment, fingered it, and then gave a mighty wrench, cracking it off the chest.   
  
He paused for a moment before opening the chest, fearing what he would find, but needing it at the same time. The goblin's feelings were beginning to mingle with his own, and he found he didn't always need to tell the difference. Or want to.  
  
He opened the lid to the chest, leaning the heavy wooden cover against the bed. Newspaper covered the contents of the box. Norman tore it off, and felt the smile return at what he found.  
  
A metallic green suit rested in the chest. He gripped it by the shoulders and raised it out of the box, relishing the familiar touch of the cool metal. It was dusty, partly from being locked away and partly from its last time being used.   
  
In the bottom of the chest laid the mask.   
  
Reverently, he lifted it from its tomb and gazed into the yellow eyes. They smiled mockingly back at him. He began to laugh, his feelings and thoughts molded with the Goblin's. In that moment, they were the same person, with the same desires, needs and wants.   
  
He snatched a duffel bag off the floor and packed the suit and mask into it. Hurrying from the apartment, there was one thing on his mind.   
_  
One more thing, Osborn. One more thing!_  
  
  
  
Peter hurried into the Daily Bugle office, praying that Mr. Jameson was in a good mood that day. He glanced at the clock and groaned silently. He had a meeting with the man at nine fifteen. Not so much a meeting, really, than Jameson barking at Peter about whether or not he had pictures of Spiderman or anything incriminating towards him.  
  
The woman at the desk outside Jameson's office glanced up at him quickly, her lips pressed together in a line of disapproval. He could almost hear her mental tirade, and chose to smile charmingly.   
  
She scowled at him and went back to her work.  
  
He sighed and immediately lost the smile. Apparently he was about as charming as a wet sponge.   
  
Peter threw his bag down on the floor sank into the uncomfortable seat outside Jameson's office, the feeling of foreboding still on him. He'd had it all morning, ever since he'd woken up, like something bad was coming, like something bad was about to happen. The feeling of being watched too, was bothering him. His spider sense was acting up, too. It had struck him suddenly when he'd been leaving the apartment, as though somebody stood in the shadows, watching. It was getting a little unnerving, and distracting.   
  
Peter shook off his fears and chalked it up to being nervous jitters. He glanced at the calendar on the wall under the clock. The thought impacted him with the wait of a hammer.  
  
It was the one month anniversary of the death of the Goblin.  
  
Peter laughed suddenly, to the disapproving glare of the tight mouthed woman. That was why he was so nervous. Subconsciously, he knew what the date was, and his imagination did the rest. As he worked through the matter, he began to feel a little better.  
  
But a part of him was still unsettled. A feeling in the pit of his stomach. Instinct was saying, "Watch your back."  
  
He rolled his eyes. Yeah, and maybe it was the fact that he shouldn't eat Chinese food so late anymore.   
  
Peter shook his head and banished the thoughts to set his mind on work.  
  
  
  
Harry Osborn sat at the large table that every meeting room in every corporation seemed to have. The Board of Directors looked at him with expressions ranging from fake smiles to outright dislike.  
  
He swallowed, having made his speech, and he could read the skepticism in the faces around him.  
  
One of the directors, one with an expression of pity and sympathy on his face said in a kind tone, "Harry, we know how much your father meant to you. We know you wouldn't want to let him down. So we can understand your not wanting to sell Oscorp. But think, did you really want to run it when he was alive? Oscorp was going down anyway. It was sold already, I believe. Your father was told to resign. Why would you want to take over it now?"  
  
Harry stubbornly lifted his chin. "Because I think maybe I can improve a few things. Make it better, make it work."  
  
The director spread his hands and sighed. "Look, Harry, running a major corporation is a lot of work. It's a demanding job. I don't know if you're up to it."  
  
Harry glared at the man, and at the others, some of whom were not so kind about it. "I know I can do it. I know I can try, anyway. And I know, maybe I won't be half as good at it as my father was. Maybe I won't do as many good things-"  
  
One of the other directors, one with an expression of contempt smirked at Harry. "Your father was a nutcase, as whacked out as they come. Oscorp was going down the tubes and he knew it. Your father did jack squat when it comes to good things. The best thing you can do is sell the company and try to get a job at a Mickey D's or something, kid, because I can see you're just like your father, and you'll lose it too."  
  
Harry's face turned bright red as he carefully controlled the rage coursing through him. His words came out haltingly. "I will not let people like you have Oscorp. Because no matter what anybody else says, my father was a good man, with peoples' best interest at heart. And I will continue in his footsteps. Because it's what he would have done."  
The director at the head of the table stood. A cautious man, one not about to watch a director antagonize the son of a newly deceased CEO, he cleared his throat loudly. "I think we all need time to think about this. We will adjourn for now and meet again at a later date."  
  
Harry, fists clenched, rose and stalked out of the room.  
  
  
  
Mary Jane Watson exited the Moondance diner, sighing. Another five hour shift was over, and her feet felt like they were going to explode.   
She had yet to strike it rich on acting, and actually had another audition the next day. She sighed again and pushed her sweaty hair back out of her eyes.  
  
"MJ! Hey MJ, wait up!"  
  
MJ turned at the familiar voice and brightened at who it was. Peter Parker was jogging down the street to her. A wave of sadness hit her when she saw him, saw what she couldn't have. She was grateful he was her friend, and wasn't just rejecting her as a person, but she still felt more deeply for him. She wanted more of their relationship. MJ would rather die than do anything to hurt him, however, so she smiled for his benefit.   
Camera swinging around his neck, he dodged traffic, raising his arms apologetically to irked drivers he cut off. Slowing to a halt in front of her, he smiled, breathing hard. "Hey, I was just coming to see you. Figured we haven't spoken in a while, and I'd come and say hello."  
  
MJ smiled wistfully at the innocent sincerity in his voice. "Well, I still work my waitress duty. And I guess I'm still in need of acting lessons."  
  
Peter smiled and shrugged. "Some people don't see talent until they're hit over the head with it. You'll find someone who isn't blind, don't worry."  
  
MJ nodded and looked down. "I know. Or I hope anyway. I have an audition tomorrow....come see me try?" She waited hopefully for his reply.  
  
He smiled that bashful smile that always charmed her and nodded. "Of course I'll come and watch, I'd love to."  
  
She tilted her head and smiled mischievously. "And then, do you want to get lunch some evening?"   
  
He faked a scowl. "Cheap shot, not fair."  
  
She smiled a real smile. "Is that a yes?"  
  
He nodded, slowly smiling back. "Yeah, I guess it is."  
  
"I'm looking forward to it."  
  
"Me too."  
  
MJ took off down the street with a new bounce in her step.  
  
  
  
The building was creaky and old, with a feeling of hopelessness to it. Dust and grime covered every surface, and the crumbling walls created strange shadows. The light cutting through the partially destroyed ceiling gave the house a strange feeling, as though it was twilight for eternity in the desolate place.  
  
Norman Osborn walked slowly through the abandoned house, breathing in the old air, gazing through the light filtering down through the dust. He made his way through the building he'd been killed in, remembering the last time he was there.  
  
"You expect it to be here?" he questioned the goblin.  
_  
It has to be here, where else would he put it?_  
  
"Well I don't know, maybe he destroyed it, like a smart person would do."  
_  
Ah, but he's also predictable. And where else is as predictable as here? _  
  
Norman shook his head and kept walking.  
  
He made his way through the first level of the house, stretching his senses out to feel it. He knew he'd sense it when it was near. He didn't know how he knew, he just did.  
  
Norman suddenly stopped and looked up through the missing floorboards, to the second level. His gaze fell on the crumbled wall he could make out above the ledge, and the still standing wall, where he had last stood.   
  
Where he had died. Impaled by his own glider.  
  
Norman tore his gaze away, struggling to push away the memories.   
  
Suddenly, he wondered what Harry was doing, if he was OK.   
_  
Stop! _  
  
Osborn halted in place.   
_  
It's here. Dig!_  
  
Norman gazed down at the dirt beneath him, wondering why he couldn't have just died and not been here. He was pushed to his knees suddenly, and he began to dig, realizing the Goblin had had enough of his hesitation.   
Pawing and scratching at the dirt, he furiously burrowed, grunting as he did so. It was there, he knew it. It had to be.....  
  
His hand struck hard metal. He smiled a deranged smile.   
  
Digging more ferociously now, he quickly uncovered the object of his desire. Brushing the dirt off it, he lifted it from its grave.   
  
His glider, blades still fully extended, lay on the ground in front of him. He looked at it for a full minute before leaning down to check if it still worked.  
  
It hummed to life a second later, and rose into the air. Osborn threw his fists into the air and laughed. Low at first, then louder and higher until he was cackling as the Goblin.  
  
He dropped his fists suddenly and, eyes wide, breathing hard, proclaimed two simple words that would bring havoc to many.  
  
"I'm back."


	2. Chapter 2

Two hours after talking to MJ and three hours after the Goblin found the glider, Peter was walking home at about four thirty, thinking about the date the next day with MJ. He wasn't sure what he was doing with her. He knew it was best not to get involved with anyone, because it would only bring she and he pain.   
  
But still, she was awfully hard to resist, with her smile that had always lit up his day.   
It was funny. He could brave fires, bad guys and God knew what else, but when MJ spoke directly to him and stared right into his eyes, his legs turned to jelly and his tongue twisted and tied.  
  
Peter watched for a lull in the traffic, and then briskly jogged across the street, miming apologies to the cars that honked at him. He slowed to a comfortable amble when he reached the sidewalk, thoughts still on MJ.  
  
He hadn't really spoken to her in depth since the day of Mr. Osborn's funeral. He'd figured it was time to stop avoiding her. Maybe it could work. Maybe, in time, he could tell her. A fleeting thought crossed his mind.  
  
_Leave her be…it's dangerous for her…you've seen that once already…  
_  
He stubbornly pushed the thought away, and the memory it carried with it. The image of MJ an inch from death, suspended high in the air flashed through his mind briefly, and he swallowed. No, he decided, it was possible it could work. Nothing was impossible. It was best to take things slowly, however. After all, she'd dumped Harry because of him. And though Harry pretended to Peter that he wasn't angry, and he didn't blame him, Peter knew that he did. Deep down inside, where maybe Harry didn't even know it, he did.  
  
Peter found it hard to feel really bad about it. After all, Harry had hidden from him that he was dating MJ. He'd avoided it, and then acted as though it was his right. Peter had been miffed about that, but knew it was his own fault. As Harry had said, he hadn't made a move.  
  
As he turned onto his street, he smelled smoke. A fire consumed the sixth and seventh floor of the apartment building across and down the street from his. His eyes widened as he took in the blaze and the destruction. A large section of the front wall of the sixth floor was gone. Crumbled as though an explosion had blasted it away. Large chunks of it littered the area around the front of the building.   
  
Peter jogged swiftly to the wreckage, and meekly tapped the arm of a police officer that was waving back pedestrians who were struggling to see. "Hi, I'm with the Daily Bugle," he said, holding up his camera. "What happened?"  
  
The officer looked at him, clearly irritated to have to deal with a stupid photographer. "Fire."  
  
Peter chose to ignore the obvious answer and his eyes widened. "Was anyone hurt? Is anybody still in there?"  
  
He was too late. The officer was already gone, unwinding a roll of police tape around the area where rubble had fallen.  
  
Peter stepped back and looked up at the building, considering whether or not his help was needed.  
  
"Jesus," a voice said behind him.   
  
Peter looked quickly. A guy, about twenty years old with longish blond hair sticking straight up, stood, eyes on the fire. Peter approached him. "Do you know what happened?"  
  
The guy looked at him. "You with the newspaper?"  
  
Peter nodded. "Did you see what happened?"  
  
The guy grinned, ignoring the question. "Am I gonna end up in the newspaper?"  
  
Peter shrugged irritably. "I don't know, I'm just a photographer. I don't write articles."  
The guy nodded sagely.  
  
Peter sighed and repeated his question once more.  
  
"Do you know what happened here?"  
  
"Yeah, I was across the street. I was going to get a hot dog. Man, I haven't had a New York hot dog in forever. New York makes the best damn hot dogs, I swear. I can eat five or six of them at once. I like them with mus-"   
  
Peter interrupted. "But did you see what happened?"  
  
"All of a sudden, there was like, this huge explosion. I'm not really sure what happened, but I saw something. I don't know if it was piece of rubble that went up because of the explosion or what. That's probably what it was."  
  
The man wasn't making sense. Peter's eyes narrowed. "What did you see?"  
  
"There was this thing, that was kind of flying away, but I'm really not sure. The thing was probably a piece of the building blasted by the shock wave."  
  
Peter's jaw was hanging open. He opened and closed it a few times before asking, "Do they know what caused the explosion?"  
  
"Well, the cops are saying it was a gas thing, but I think it's a cover up, considering how the apartments are on the sixth and seventh floor. I say somebody had a bomb. Everyone got out OK, though, so nobody was really hurt."  
  
"And this thing.....what did it look like?"  
  
"I don't really know. There was a lot of smoke and fire, so I couldn't really see. All I know is that it kind of came out of the fire and went up through the smoke and disappeared."  
  
Peter remained silent for a moment. The guy looked at him. "Do you know what it was?"  
  
"Maybe. But like you said, it was probably a piece of wall or something."  
  
The guy nodded again. "If I say it was something else, will I get in the newspaper?"  
  
Peter looked at the guy. "I don't know. If you stick around for a little while, maybe you'll be interviewed. I can't interview though."  
  
The guy nodded again. "Well, I hope you figure out what happened. Then you could be in the newspaper."  
  
Peter nodded, anxious to be away from the strange man. "Maybe."  
  
He jogged down the street a little bit and stood, scanning the clear blue sky.   
  
Nothing there.  
  
  
  
The Green Goblin watched Peter searching the skies for him. He resisted the urge to cackle, figuring it would probably give him away.   
  
He was standing among the junk on the roof of a building down the street from the fire. It appeared that whatever instinct Peter had that alerted him to danger only came into effect when he was in direct and immediate danger. Like oh, for example, a glider with deadly blades attacking him from behind. That was how he'd known to get out of the way that night. That was why the Goblin had died when it should have been Peter.   
He remembered his feelings right before he died, his feelings mixed with Osborn's in the moment of their death. A main one had been shock. How had Peter known? How had he moved so fast out of the way? And then realization. And, fleetingly, fear. He realized his mistake. Even if he had killed Peter, the glider's own momentum would still have carried it forward into the Goblin. But still…had it caught Peter, it may have slowed enough to give him time to realize what would happen and move out of the way.   
His main emotion that night had been rage, wild fury at being killed so easily, and at Peter's luck to have such an instinct. But now the Goblin knew. Now he was prepared.  
The Goblin had been cautiously tracking the unknowing Peter since he'd left the Daily Bugle, checking if this was indeed the way his special sense worked. Stealthily flying behind and above him, he'd watched him eating a late lunch, walking around....  
Talking to Mary Jane Watson.   
  
He had watched incredulously as the little wench had flirted with Peter. Her love for him had almost gotten her killed and she still had feelings for him.  
  
The Goblin settled for a low chuckle. He was getting to Peter. Frightening him, making him wonder. Barely telling him who was there, but telling him just the same.  
  
The Goblin watched for a second more, then leaped onto his glider and took off. The next hint wouldn't be as subtle, and he needed to figure out how to give it the proper touch.  
  
  
  
The next day, Peter hurried to the little theater where MJ was auditioning. He glanced at his watch and groaned. Five minutes late. Oh well, he thought, these things never start on time.  
  
He quietly pushed the door open to the theater and took a seat in the back. MJ was walking onto the stage. He almost snorted. Figures, he thought sardonically, the one time they start on time.  
  
MJ began to deliver a speech, a monologue from one play or another. As she progressed, Peter found himself spellbound, not so much by the content of the speech, but by the way she spoke. The passion in her voice, the conviction, was mesmerizing. He could see it in her eyes, as though she was the woman, the woman lamenting over her lover.  
  
Peter found he couldn't tear his eyes away from her, he couldn't do anything but listen to her glorious voice resonate through the theater. It took him a moment to realize when she finished, and he was astonished at how anyone could portray with such emotion.  
  
Peter resisted the urge to leap to his feet and applaud, but instead sat silently, watching the men in the front write down things and consider. One finally looked up, as though he'd forgotten she was there and she shouldn't have been.   
  
"We'll call you when we've decided what to do."  
  
She nodded and swiftly exited the theater. He caught her arm on the way out and smiled at her, giving her a very enthusiastic thumbs up.   
  
Once they were out in the lobby, he spoke. "MJ, you were great! How could anyone not see what I see?"  
  
She looked down shyly. "And what do you see?"  
  
He gazed at her raptly for a moment before answering. "A beautiful woman who could do anything she wanted to. Who could be anything she wants to be."  
  
She sniffed hard and looked at him, and for a moment, he thought there were tears in her eyes. But a second later, he was sure there weren't. "Do you mean that? That you think I could do anything?"  
  
He looked at the floor bashfully before answering and then nodded. "MJ, I think you could fly if you wanted to."  
  
She smiled sadly and brushed a lock of hair off her forehead. "So how about that lunch?"  
  
He nodded and slung his backpack around the other shoulder. "Let's get out of here."  
They exited the cool building, blinking in the bright sunlight. As MJ and Peter walked down the street, deciding where to dine, the hair suddenly stood up on Peter's neck and arms. Instincts screamed at him.  
  
_Spider-sense!_  
  
As he looked wildly around, ignoring MJ's frantic questions if something was wrong, the building they had just exited exploded. They were only ten or twelve feet from it, and the shock wave felt like a rough push from behind, sending Peter and MJ stumbling. Fire burst from the windows, shattering the glass, and immediately leapt to consume much of the walls. Smoke belched into the air, immediately creating a black haze. Peter pushed MJ behind him protectively and raised a hand to shield his eyes against the firelight. People were running away from the building. Others were coming to view the destruction. All of them were yelling and screaming. Peter's mind whirled as he tried to figure out what had happened, why a building would just suddenly explode. His eyes took in the chaotic scene, and he racked his brain.  
  
Horrible maniacal laughter suddenly rang out above the shrieks of people, and something flew at high speed above the destruction, cutting back into the smoke.  
Time slowed for Peter, everything happening in a dreamlike way. He thought he could see a shadow circling above the inferno. "No way......"  
  
Another explosion, much closer to him rattled his teeth, and he felt the shock wave through his whole body this time.   
  
The same familiar, mocking laughter echoed chilling Peter to his bones. Paralyzed by shock and fear, he stared at the figure through the curtain of flame and smoke. It was definitely there, hovering in the black smoke being belched from the blaze. He could almost see....could almost see make out the shape.......  
  
And suddenly the thing was gone. Flown away, before Peter could get a real glimpse of it. He had a completely irrational conviction of what it had been. Trouble was, there was also a rather convincing argument.   
  
The man was dead.  
  
MJ was hyperventilating, her eyes also on the airborne menace that was now far away, a speck in the sky. Recognition flashed in her eyes as she gazed at it, and with it, horrible fear. Her eyes were distant, and Peter could tell she was lost in a memory. "Peter...Peter, was that...do you know who that...."  
  
Peter gripped her shoulders and shook her gently. "MJ, I need you to wait for me, there are people in there. Somebody probably already got help, but make sure. Calm down, breath slowly, it's OK. The.....the thing is gone."  
  
She shook her head. "Peter, you can't go back in there, the place is a death trap!"  
He looked straight into her eyes. "I have to. Trust me, MJ."  
  
He smiled his innocent little boy smile that always lifted her feelings. She swallowed painfully as he started toward the inferno. Though she was still deeply frightened for him and shocked, a strange reassurance filled her. It was as though she knew he would be fine…knew that he was much more than he looked. She'd gotten the feeling more than once about him, and a thought struggled to push into her head. It was as though he'd said that to her before. As though the moment was familiar…  
  
_Trust me, MJ.  
_  
It was familiar, mockingly familiar. Still…even for all the reassurances in the world…."Peter....Peter please!" He turned to look at her questioningly, as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening. "Please don't go?" She blinked back tears.   
He smiled and gave her a thumbs up. The next minute he had covered his head and rushed into the blazing building. MJ bit her lip and held back a sob, wringing her hands. "Please don't go..." she whispered. "I love you."  
  
Peter squinted in the smoke, breathing shallowly to avoid burning his lungs. Fire licked hungrily at every available surface and object, and he carefully skirted the dancing flames. Part of the roof above him collapsed somewhere in the building, and screams erupted from deep inside the building.   
  
He pulled the hood on his coat up over his head and face and shoved through a burning entrance that used to lead into the theater.  
  
It looked like the gates of hell.  
  
Peter walked swiftly down the center aisle, eyeing the flames devouring the soft carpet. Another crash of the roof imploding brought more shrieks to his ears.   
  
"Where are you!?"  
  
Cries sounded ahead of him and he immediately moved to them. Carefully giving all flames a wide berth, he fought his way through, remembering all too well the last time he'd been in a burning building to save someone. Remembering who he'd found.   
He pushed the thoughts out of his mind. He'd think about it later. Now, there were people dying.  
  
Suddenly he cried out. A flame had bitten his hand, and he pressed it to his mouth, the pain pushing everything out of his mind. He carefully breathed through his nose and struggled not to scream. He had to keep his head.  
  
_"Where are you?"  
_  
He repeated the question, and he thought he heard an answer. "What?"  
  
"He.......help! We...we're in here! In the office!"  
  
"Hang on, I'm coming!"  
  
Peter reached into his coat and fished through his pocket until he found his gloves. He carefully pulled one over his burned hand, bringing a new wave of severe pain that twisted his stomach in nausea, as well.  
  
He could see what had been the office. There were four men huddled against the wall, cut off from the door by the blaze. Pieces of the ceiling fell, narrowly missing Peter's head.  
  
One of the men cried out in relief at the sight of Peter. "Help....help us! We're in here!"  
The door blocked off, Peter squinted and sucked in through his teeth as he gripped the burning wall by a broken edge and yanked with all his might.  
  
CRACK!  
  
The plaster wall shattered off in wooden shards as he kicked and punched a makeshift door in the wall. He reached a hand through the hole. "Come on! Now!"  
  
The four terrified men leapt the distance across the room, grabbing Peter's hand as he helped them through the door. He pulled his hood over his face and tied it, partly for protection against the fire and partly to hide who he was.  
  
"Let's go! Follow me!"  
  
He lead them through the blaze, making sure they all escaped with him. He turned to them, their clothes and skin washed red by the firelight. "Was anyone else in there?"  
One of the men shook his head, still in shock. "No, no one. We were the only ones in there....how could this have happened?"  
  
Peter watched as ambulances pulled up and the firefighters arrived. The situation seemed under control. He made sure the men got to an ambulance and then quickly maneuvered through the crowd that was gathering. He pulled his hood down and yanked the gloves off, turning when he was a safe distance from the building. MJ stood on the edge of the crowd, wringing her hands, her face creased in deep anxiety. He jogged to her and touched her shoulder lightly.   
  
She spun to face him and threw her arms around him without any hesitation. "Oh Peter, I was sure you were going to be killed!"  
  
He held her for a moment, the familiar feeling of his legs turning to jello at MJ's attention, and then pulled back. "MJ, come on, I'd like to get away from this. I don't want to be made into the big hero."  
  
She grabbed his arm, holding up the injured hand. "You're hurt, did you see a doctor?"   
The skin on the whole left side of his left hand was red and blistered, from the middle of the back of his hand to his palm. It wasn't as bad as it had felt, however, nor did it look as bad. "No, but I'll be OK."  
  
She gave him a frustrated look. "Peter, you should see a doctor, right away."  
"I will, but right now, I just want to get away from all these people."  
  
She smiled, a smile of relief, but a smile haunted by longing nonetheless. "You're too shy....but OK."  
  
As they neared MJ's apartment, Peter laughed a little. "Well, I guess today didn't go as planned. You did great in the audition though."  
  
She sniffed hard and smiled, finding it amazing that he could make her smile at a time like this. "I can't believe it though...."  
  
The smile fled her face. "We were in that building seconds before. It could have been us in there. We could have died...It was as though he knew…"  
  
Peter stopped again and stared at her for a moment incredulously. "He?"   
  
MJ mistook the reason for his disbelief. She thought he had no idea what the thing was and didn't know what she was talking about. "Yes," she whispered. "He…that thing…Peter, are you all right?"  
  
Peter was standing mouth hanging open, eyes wide. His mind was racing. "It could have been us...like he knew..."  
  
He turned to her suddenly as they stood outside her apartment. "MJ, I'm sorry, but I have to go. Something very, very important has just come to me. I'll try to call you again, but I have to go home now."  
  
Her shoulders sank as she watched him start to leave. "But...but are you OK? Are you going to be all right?"  
  
He kept walking, and raised an arm to wave at her. "Everything's fine! Don't worry 'bout a thing!"  
  
Leaving her staring after him, Peter began to run as fast as he could to get home. It could have been them in there.   
  
Coincidence?   
  
He didn't think so.  
  
Peter had been startled when he realized MJ had come to the same conclusion he had about who the culprit was. Peter knew the man was dead, but he had forgotten that MJ didn't That was why he'd been so shocked she'd imply that that's who it was. Because even though Peter knew about the death, as far as MJ could tell, he was still alive. Norman Osborn was not, but he was. She had no reason to tie the two together and believe otherwise.  
  
Peter took the steps two at a time to the apartment building, and practically ran across the lobby. The elevator was taking an amazing amount of time coming down, and he pressed the button several hundred times before it reached him.   
  
Peter hadn't wanted to believe that it could be him. He had been hoping against hope it wasn't and had been so fervent in his hope and belief that he had convinced himself it wasn't true. He had blocked out the possibility. When MJ had suggested it, it had been a splash of cold water in the face. He realized it was a deadly possibility, no matter how farfetched.  
  
When he reached his apartment, he dropped his keys three times trying to get them in the door. Only when he twisted the key and heard things inside the lock rattling and loose did he realize his lock was broken. He swallowed hard and shoved the door open.  
  
Peter kicked the door shut behind him and raced up the steps to his room. Harry poked his head out of his room and his eyes widened as he watched Peter blow past, up the stairs and into his room. "Is something wrong?" he asked as Peter slammed open the door to his room. Ignoring Harry, Peter shut his door behind him. Harry scratched his head.  
  
The room was an even bigger mess than usual, and Peter almost broke his neck by tripping over a pair of boots, a pile of newspapers and a solitary sweatshirt.   
  
He dropped to his knees beside the bed, snatching under it for the chest. Yanking it out, he stopped dead when he saw the condition of the lock.  
  
It was snapped almost in two. Snapped. A solid metal lock snapped.  
  
He swallowed hard, wanting to push it back under the bed and deny that anything was wrong.   
  
Not possible. If he was back, then Peter needed to know.  
  
With a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, Peter opened the chest.  
  
It was empty, save a few pieces of newspaper.  
  
Peter leapt to his feet and poked his head into the hallway. "Harry? Harry, you down there?"  
  
Harry appeared at the bottom of the stairs, eyebrows raised. "Yeah? What's up, Peter?"  
  
"You weren't in my room by any chance, were you?"  
  
Harry frowned and shook his head. "No, why do you ask?"  
  
Peter, struggling to control his breathing, stared into space for a moment.  
  
"Peter?"  
  
He blinked once and looked at Harry, seeming to not see him.   
  
"Why do you ask?"  
  
Peter forced a shaky smile. "Just wondering, that's all."  
  
Harry nodded and disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving Peter to stand shocked for another second.   
  
He needed more proof. He had to know who it was. It was still possible it was somebody else, not....not a ghost, or a dead man come back to life.  
  
Peter raced back down the stairs, tripped over his own feet, and stumbled to the door. Harry watched him thunder through the room. "Peter? What's wrong? Where are you going?"  
  
"Out, gotta go, be back later, don't worry!"  
  
Harry scratched his head.  
  
  
  
Ten minutes later, Peter was jogging through the gates of the cemetery, praying that he was wrong. It wasn't as much of a shock if it was somebody else, and not a dead man.  
  
Peter sped up, running full out to the far end of the cemetery. Breathing hard, eyes wide, he slowed as he neared the grave. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to approach the grave, terrified of what he would find.   
  
Peter walked slowly, purposefully to the grave. And almost fainted at what he saw. Gasping, he staggered back as though punched.  
  
The grave was disturbed. Dirt piled on both sides, as though something had erupted from the ground.  
  
Lifting leaden legs, Peter approached the edge of the grave and peered inside.  
  
Empty.   
  
Peter sat down on the ground, hard. And made the understatement of the century.  
  
"We're in trouble." 


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Thank you for the FANTASTIC reviews, reaers. Chances are, you've all read countless "Thank you for the reviews" messages, so I'll stop there. I hope you all like this next part as much as the first two. Enjoy.  
  


  
  
**Chapter Three**  


  
  
  
  
  
  
At the same time that Peter was sitting in the cemetery next to his grave, Norman Osborn paced in a basement laboratory of Oscorp. Once again, he was arguing with the voice inside his head.   
  
  
The Goblin had wanted to kill Peter and the girl in one fell swoop. The girl wasn't as important, she was just a matter of revenge and pride. But Peter…he hadn't gotten there quick enough, and had thrown the bomb just as they were leaving, rather than when they were in the building. There was no doubt now that Peter knew they were alive, and the Goblin was furious at Osborn. He was convinced that Osborn had caused him to miss on purpose. Osborn denied it, but he wasn't so sure it wasn't true. "I still don't understand why we can't just leave him alone and go about our business without alerting him. It's a lot easier now that people think we're dead."  
  
  
_No. You're wrong twice. He already knows we're alive. I didn't leave much room for argument. And people don't think I'm dead, they think you're dead. You forget, only Peter knows who I am. And now, thanks to you, he'd going to know I'm alive no matter what we do! By sabotaging my plan, not only did you alert him but, you've sealed his fate! We have to kill him now!_  
  
  
Norman ran a hand over his face and through his disheveled hair. "But I don't think it's necessary."  
  
  
_Too much for your stomach? Don't have the guts? _The Goblin cackled. _Don't worry, you won't remember any of it afterward._  
  
  
Norman pressed his fingers to his temples and turned to face the mask he'd propped up in a chair. He hated it when the Goblin taunted him about being weak. He, who had always prided himself on his strength. "No, that's not it," he growled through clenched teeth. "I just don't see why we have to do it."  
  
  
_Because now that he knows I'm alive, he'll be coming after us. _  
  
  
Norman nodded, seeing it was futile to argue. The Goblin was right, anyway. Norman was growing stronger, understanding more of what the Goblin did and said. Norman had come to realize the Goblin was stronger than he ever was, never letting emotions get in the way, never hesitating. No wonder he was superhuman.  
  
  
_He's also an evil monster who's caused pain to many._  
  
  
Norman pushed the annoying thought away. He nodded again. "All right. We'll do it."  
  
  
_Finally grew a gut, Osborn? I'm glad. But this time, we do it differently. This time, no dancing around it. No more of this corny supervillain crap. This time, we go right for the kill._  
  
  
The insane laughter rose inside of Norman as he left the laboratory.  
  
  
  
  
The late afternoon sun was sinking in the sky, and the warmth was dying along with the day. A cold wind blew through the cemetery, one of the first winter winds. The super hero sat, shocked, letting the news sink in.  
  
  
The Green Goblin was back.  
  
  
He stared at nothing, eyes wide as he chewed on his thumbnail, a habit from when he was a kid. It wouldn't have been so bad if the man hadn't come back from the dead. If it was just some nut out there, he wouldn't have needed to figure out how to kill someone who had already died.   
  
  
What could he do? There were a million places the goblin could hide in NYC. There was so much pain he could cause. Peter's stomach sank as he thought of the destruction he had already created. Obviously, the goblin had found the glider. Peter had to admit, he hadn't been very good at hiding it. Now that he thought of it, he wasn't sure why he hadn't destroyed it. A stupid mistake. One that may cost lives.  
  
  
Peter gazed up at the sky, with the irrational thought the Goblin may be up there. Empty.  
  
  
Another thought suddenly came to mind, one that made Peter spring to his feet. Supposing he went after MJ again?   
  
  
Peter's stomach twisted as he thought of the near miss that had occurred that very morning. A warning, most likely. The Goblin's twisted way of playing with Peter.   
  
  
_Cat and mouse._  
  
  
That would explain the strange feeling Peter had had lately. The feeling of being watched. It must have happened only a few days ago. He'd been at the cemetery two days before, so it couldn't have happened long after that.  
  
  
Peter hurried out of the cemetery, glancing at his watch. Six o'clock, MJ should be leaving work soon.   
  
  
No, she was working that night. That was why she'd had the audition during the day.  
  
  
She was home alone.  
  
  
Peter glanced around, searching for a pay phone. He sifted through his pockets for a quarter and came up with an assortment of nickels, pennies, and a dime.   
  
  
Counting out his change, he jammed the money into the slot, shoving the rest of it back in his pocket. First he dialed MJ's number.   
  
  
"Hello?"  
  
  
"Hi MJ, I was just calling to see how you are. Are you all right now?"  
  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine, just a little shaken. How's your burn?"  
  
  
Peter eyes were drawn back to the sky. "It's a lot better. Anyway, I was going to come over to see if you're all right. Would…would that be OK?"  
  
  
She chuckled at his shy request. "Yeah, yeah, that would be great."  
  
  
"OK. I'll see you in a little while. Bye!"  
  
  
He pushed down the hang up lever and shoveled more change into the machine. He   
dialed his own number, and the answering machine picked up. Harry must have gone out.  
  
  
"Hey Harry...."  
  
  
  
  
The Goblin smoothly flew in Peter's open window and leapt off his glider. Landing silently, his gaze swept the room. Empty.   
  
  
Moving swiftly through the room, he went to the top of the stairs, listening for any sounds of life. None met his ears. He had come for one reason, and that was to kill Peter. Never mind how he did it.   
  
  
He was starting down the stairs when the phone rang. The answering machine picked up.  
  
  
"Hey, it's Harry and Peter, leave your message at the tone and if you're lucky, we'll call you back."  
  
  
Beep.  
  
  
"Hey, Harry, it's Peter. Sorry about running out before like that, but I had something important to do. I'm at the cemetery right now, and I'm gonna head over to...to MJ's, if you're wondering where I am. I should be back later, probably tonight, so don't worry. See you later."  
  
  
Beep.  
  
  
The Goblin stood for a moment on the stairs, marveling at how perfect life could be sometimes.   
  
  
"Hello?"  
  
  
The Goblin started. Harry's voice. He'd thought no one was home.Why didn't he pick up the phone?  
  
  
"Hello? Who's there?"  
  
  
Footsteps were coming to the stairs. The Goblin silently turned and went back upstairs, despite the feelings of sorrow and pain trying to cut through him, feelings from Osborn. Feelings that had awakened at the sound of his son's voice.  
  
  
Shoving the useless emotions away, he returned to Peter's room, concentrating on the matters at hand. Stepping onto his glider, he savored how much fun this would be.  
And how brilliant the simplest plans were.  
  
  
  
  
Harry stepped into Peter's room and glanced around. He'd felt….he didn't know what he'd felt. It was as though someone was there. Not a stranger, however. A familiar presence.  
  
  
His gaze swept the room.  
  
  
Empty.  
  
  
  
  
Peter strode away from the cemetery, walking quickly. It was a long walk to MJ's apartment and he didn't have the money for a cab ride.   
  
  
As he walked swiftly, he narrowed down the possible places the Goblin could be hiding. He couldn't possibly be at the Osborn mansion. It would be a little hard to miss.   
  
  
A thought struck him. It was very possible he didn't need to narrow down. He'd just hit on the perfect place.   
  
  
The Oscorp buildings.  
  
  
It was perfect. There were probably a lot of empty labs now, and it was where Mr. Osborn had worked. That's where he was, Peter was sure of it.  
  
  
Raising a hand, Peter jogged across the street, ignoring the people leaning on their horns and calling him a wide range of names.   
  
  
Now he faced the dilemma of what he was going to do if he found the Goblin there. Kill him? Again? What's to say he won't come back again?   
  
  
Talk to him? About what? Peter smiled faintly at the mental image. _"Hi, Mr. Osborn, how're you doing? I thought you were dead. What's that? You want to kill me?"_  
  
  
Best bet was to probably kill him before it got too out of control. A sinking in his stomach answered that solution. Walking in and killing someone right off the bat was something Peter had never really had to contemplate before. It seemed so…cold blooded. _What do they call it? Premeditated murder? _  
  
  
As he jogged around a corner, his face creased with a new worry. What happened if Harry went to the cemetery and saw the hole in the ground with an empty coffin?   
_  
  
Yeah, Harry, you're dad's a whacked out supervillain who just returned from the dead.   
And I'm Spiderman. That's right, the guy that killed him._  
  
  
Even if he killed the Goblin, then what? Take him back to the cemetery, rebury him, hope nobody thinks Peter's getting rid of murder evidence and then wait around to see if he ever rises again?  
  
  
Suddenly, the hair on Peter's arms and the back of his neck rose. Icy fingers danced down his spine and his instincts screamed.  
  
  
Peter slowly turned, knowing beyond a doubt what was making his spider sense go nuts.   
  
  
The Green Goblin was maneuvering through the air towards him at a shocking speed. Peter's eyes widened. It was as though he had stepped right out of Peter's thoughts. Peter had always had a sick fascination with the way the Goblin moved with a deadly kind of grace, and now it stuck out to him more than ever. He was like a metallic angel of death coming, coming always for Peter.   
  
  
The mask's eye visors were up. Peter's gaze met his, and he could see the hatred dancing in those eyes. Subtle changes came over Peter, eyes hardening, brow setting, shoulders rolling back. He was becoming Spiderman. Time slowed for a moment as the hero and the villain locked gazes, hot blue eyes against cold brown eyes.   
  
  
The visors snapped down, and the Goblin let out his first cackle, speeding up. Peter shivered. The cackle was enough for Peter. It was definitely the same Goblin.  
  
  
As time returned to normal pace for Peter, he noticed the Green Goblin was about to take his head off. Peter broke through his paralysis and leapt out of the way. The Goblin blew past, laughing the whole way.   
  
  
People around began to notice the crazed lunatic flying through the streets and cried out in fear. Some ran. A woman shrieked as he passed within inches of her head. A group of teenage guys rode alongside the Goblin in their preppy BMW and rolled down the window, cheering and laughing. Peter groaned.   
  
  
The Green Goblin circled around behind them. Peter's eyes widened as the Goblin tossed a bomb at the car.   
  
  
It hit the hood of the car and bounced, rolling into the middle of the street. A few moments later, it exploded, and Peter instinctively threw his arms in front of his face, stepping back. He could feel the heat from where he stood. The explosion sent a passing car onto its side. The car slid across the lanes, metal screeching against the road, into a few other parked cars. Oncoming vehicles swerved to avoid the sliding hunk of metal. They crashed into one another, horns blaring, and people staggered from the wreckage.   
  
  
Peter watched in horror as the Goblin howled with laughter at the pandemonium. Once again, he turned back to gaze at Peter. They looked at each other for a moment, and the goblin shouted a challenge. "The race is on, Spiderman!"  
  
  
A second later, he rose into the sky, leaving his wake of destruction. Peter took a moment to realize what he meant and gasped. He began to run after the Goblin, eyes on the glider. Peter desperately sprinted, pulling at the air with his arms, as though he was swimming.  
  
  
Peter realized this was no way to win the "race", and slowed, gazing from side to side. Turning sharply, he cut into an alley, and leaped, grabbing hold of the wall and pulling himself up. No time to change into the costume. Praying no one would recognize his face, he climbed the wall rapidly.  
  
  
Peter leapt from the top of a window sill on the tenth floor of the building and caught   
hold of the roof. He made a mad dash to the edge of the roof and jumped to the next. Leaping from building to building, he drew closer to MJ's apartment, eyes constantly searching for the villain. Pausing on the edge of a roof a few blocks from his destination, Peter scanned the air around him, panting with exhaustion.  
_  
  
Where is he, where is he!?_  
  
  
The Goblin was blowing past him as he watched, turbines roaring, and Peter shot a strand of web after him. He flew through the darkening sky, webbing from building to building. Instinct took over, adrenaline flooding his body in a dizzying rush as he flowed through the air. Rather than the familiar feeling of freedom, fear and dread powered him on. He was still falling behind. Despite the fact that he moved quickly, the Goblin was flying in a straight line, whereas Spiderman swung from side to side.   
  
  
By pure instinct, he shot right at the glider and caught the back of it, web snagging a sharp edge. Holding onto the web with one hand, he gripped the corner of the building he was sticking to, intent on stopping the glider in mid air.  
Mistake.  
  
  
The glider reached the end of its tether and the line snapped taught, yanking Peter right off the building. It appeared his weight did not exceed the weight of the Goblin and the glider.   
  
  
His shoulder screamed with pain at almost being ripped out of its socket, and his fingers were scraped raw. The glider lurched with the new weight, throwing its rider off balance. Peter lunged with his free hand for the web, getting a better grip.   
  
  
Spiderman was now flying behind the glider like a kite. The wind and the engine roared in his ears. Squinting against the cold rush of air, he clenched the web tighter. The Goblin twisted to look back at the sudden decrease in speed and snarled when he saw he what he was dragging.   
  
  
Despite his better judgment, Spiderman let go with one hand and tried to fire a thick strand of web at a wall. The Goblin immediately began to zigzag the glider sharply through the air, causing his passenger to snap back and forth on the end of his line. The arm Spiderman had let go with flopped helplessly.  
  
  
Peter's eyes widened in panic as he struggled to hold on to the snapping, twisting web. The Goblin had pulled the glider into a tight, continuous turn, and Peter's one handed grip was slipping. Grabbing frantically with his free hand, Peter snagged the web. It probably would have been better just to let go and grab onto a building or shoot for another one, but he couldn't bring himself to let go. Besides, the way the Goblin was twisting through the air, the turbulence would have shot him right into a wall.  
Peter began to inch his way up the web, one hand over the other, pulling himself up to the glider. He had to get off the web, it was going to snap at any moment. Biting his lip, muscles bulging, he struggled against the wind. He was almost there…three arms lengths…two…  
  
  
Just as he was an arm's length from the back of the glider, the Goblin threw it into another sharp turn, causing Peter's burnt hand to fly off the web. Rapidly, he began to slide back down the web. Crying out at the burn of the web scraping the flesh right off his hand, he lunged for the glider, groping for an edge to get a grip on. Face screwed up with the effort, grunting, Peter stretched, and finally got a grip on the slippery metal. He abandoned the web and grabbed the back of the glider with his other hand. He hooked an arm around the Goblin's left leg and yanked hard.  
  
  
The Goblin dropped hard to one knee as Peter pulled his leg out from under him. The glider wobbled through the air as Peter viciously yanked him back, trying to slide him right off the back of it. As the glider tipped dangerously backwards with the extra weight, both Spiderman and the Goblin scrambled to get a hold on it. Peter kept trying to use the Goblin as a ladder, and the Goblin kept trying kick Peter in the face. As Peter dodged one of these vicious kicks, he started to pull himself up onto the glider, yanking his head back out of the way of the Goblin's back handed swing.  
  
  
Growling, the Goblin turned halfway around, intent on getting Peter off. Peter, however, noticed that since the Goblin's attention was focused mainly on him, the glider was flying freely, taking its own course.   
  
  
"Hey!" Peter managed to yell, pointing with his chin. The Goblin reflexively half turned, and noticed the building rushing towards them. He angled the glider sharply as best he could on one knee, rolling it almost onto its side, and they almost cleared the building.   
Almost, but as the glider rolled, the edge of the left wing brushed it. Had they been going sloewr, it probably wouldn't have mattered much. But at that high speed, even the slightest obstruction in the path would affect them greatly.   
  
  
The glider fishtailed, spinning away from the building. Both Spiderman and the Green Goblin were suddenly in danger of being thrown off as the glider wobbled and spun. Peter clutched the back of the glider for dear life, knuckles white, and the Goblin gripped both wings tightly. Peter squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the roller coaster ride to stop, trying to calm his sickened stomach. He gritted his teeth and his eyes popped open as they continued to spin. "_Make it stop_!" he screamed at the Goblin.   
  
  
"_What the hell do you think I'm doing_?!" The Goblin roared back.  
  
  
Despite the fact that Peter's weight was disrupting the Goblin's steering and concentration, he managed to take the glider out of the turn into a straight path. Releasing his death grip on the much slowed glider, he began to pick up speed again. Peter used the momentary distraction and decrease in speed to try to swing himself up onto the glider, anchoring one knee against it.  
  
  
The glider suddenly spun again, into a dizzying three hundred and sixty degree turn, but this time on purpose. The buildings and surroundings of the city whirled crazily around Peter, and he shut his eyes against the kaleidoscope of images going by, stomach rising again. He clenched the sweeping edges of the glider, but the sharp turn had made his own weight a problem. Just when he thought it was over, the Goblin whirled it into another full spin, back the other way this time.   
  
  
When it stopped the second time, Peter used a burst of strength to get the other knee on the glider. He balanced precariously behind the Goblin. Trouble was, now that Peter was kneeling with his fingers stuck to each wing, he had freed his enemy's leg. The Goblin wasted no time in standing again, and his boot locked into place with an audible click.  
  
  
MJ's apartment was a block away. The Goblin was heading straight for it, and Peter heard a roar as a weapon attached to the belly of the glider powered up. Peter slowly got to his feet, making a club with his fists, rolling them together. He slammed them down with all his might, squarely between the Goblin's shoulder blades, almost sending the villain to his knees. Peter heard a gasping sound from beneath the grinning mask as the Goblin struggled to breath. The glider teetered off course as its rider reeled under Peter's fists, and the missile that had been powering up discharged into a building, exploding in a huge ball of fire and smoke. Relief and anguish tore at Peter. It wasn't MJ's apartment, but people were likely to have died, once again because Peter hadn't been quick enough.  
  
  
No time for regrets now. The Goblin was turning the glider back to MJ's building, and   
another missile was powering.   
  
  
  
  
MJ was sitting on her couch, pretending to read a magazine. She didn't know who she was pretending for, but she wanted to feel like she wasn't waiting almost breathlessly for Peter's arrival. She felt like an elementary school girl again, waiting to meet a boy she liked.  
  
  
Looking at her watch, she sighed. It had been fifteen minutes since Peter called. She snapped the magazine shut and tossed it on the table. Who was she kidding?  
Sighing again, she closed her eyes, imagining what it would be like to kiss Peter again. That day in the cemetery…that moment when they had kissed, MJ had known, known beyond any doubt that Peter was the one for her. From that one kiss she had known.  
She opened her eyes, frowning for a moment. One kiss? Had it only been one? She could have sworn…no, she would definitely remember kissing Peter. It had felt familiar, though, that day in the cemetery…like they had kissed more than once. She couldn't place the feeling. Shrugging it off, she tilted her head back.  
  
  
Closing her eyes again, she imagined what it would feel like to have Peter's arms around her.   
  
  
  
  
Peter desperately threw his arms around the Goblin's chest under his arms, hugging him from behind. He threw all his weight to the left, pulling the glider into a turn by steering the Goblin himself. The glider twisted drunkenly through the air as it tried to heed its master's directions and Peter's at the same time. The Goblin finally succeeded, but Peter threw his weight to the right and then the left again, yanking him back and forth as though in a demented dance. The second missile missed as well, exploding in a different building.  
  
  
The Goblin snapped his head back, trying to hit Peter in the face, missing by an inch. He twisted Peter's hands apart, but Peter immediately slithered out of his grasp and threw his arms around the Goblin's neck in a choke hold, trying to pull him over backwards. The villain bent forward, tugging Spiderman, who was shorter than him, off his feet. Spiderman kicked, trying to touch back down, but couldn't without releasing his hold. Grunting with the effort, the Goblin twisted and rolled Spiderman easily forward, over his right shoulder. With a burst of strength and effort, he flipped Spiderman over his shoulder and off the glider.  
  
  
Two instincts pulled at Spiderman. One was screaming that he would fall to his death. The other, more sensible one was telling him to shoot a web.  
  
  
Neither would win the fight.  
  
  
A green armored hand caught Spiderman's before he could completely escape. The Goblin clenched Peter's burnt hand tighter, twisting, wrenching, breaking…  
  
  
Crying out as things inside his hand began to crack, Peter twisted his hand in the grip. The Goblin cackled at the pitiful whimpering sound, raising Peter into the air so he was looking at him on eye level. He looked straight into his eyes for a moment, then threw a powerful punch into Peter's stomach. The air left his lungs with a whoosh, and Peter croaked pathetically, strength taken by that one powerful punch. He had never, ever been hit that hard in his entire life. He did not remember the Goblin being that strong, not at all. Peter had seen the punch coming and had hardened his stomach muscles against it, but still…it had hurt a lot more than he had thought it would.   
  
  
To Peter's great relief, the Goblin released his broken hand, but reached for Peter's throat instead. Spiderman tried to suck in all the air he could as he felt the hand close around his throat. Peter unleashed a mighty punch, catching the Goblin squarely across the jaw. It was a punch that would dislocate a jaw, or break a nose. The Goblin seemed not to notice it at all. Surely his armor alone wouldn't have made him immune. Peter knew that he had given his share of beatings to the Goblin. The Goblin was not impervious to his blows, but it seemed this one did not hurt him. Maybe Peter's punch hadn't been all that hard…maybe the Goblin was stronger? These thoughts chased wildly through Peter's head as the Green Goblin began to strangle him.   
  
  
Peter's eyes widened in panic as his throat was crushed shut. Tightening his neck muscles, he struggled to bend the green fingers back. When he couldn't break the Goblin's grip, he began to go wild with fear, losing all sense of reason. Eyes bulging, he beat at the arm, kicking and thrashing. The Goblin was truly delighted by his struggles, and his mad laughter rang in Peter's ears.  
  
  
Peter's lungs sucked at nothing, and he gagged, the grip preventing him from retching. An idea flashed into Peter's blurred mind. If the Goblin tightened his grip much more, Peter's windpipe would be crushed forever, and he would die whether he was released or not. Maybe if he stopped kicking, the Goblin would think he was dead.   
  
  
The Goblin shook Peter a little, who was now as limp as a rag doll. Spiderman's vision darkened and his eyes rolled back in his head as he began to die.  
  
  
"So long, Spiderman," the Goblin shouted as he released his hold. As Peter began to   
fall, almost fully unconscious, he blindly reached for something to hold on to as he fell, by pure instinct. Catching the edge of the glider with both hands, he hung, fighting to stay conscious, fighting to grip with his broken hand. Peter's throat remained closed, and he desperately tried to suck in a breath, fearing his windpipe was permanently crushed.   
  
  
The Goblin snarled in utter exasperation at Peter's tenacity and brought his foot down on Peter's burnt, broken hand. Peter felt and heard cracks growing along the bones The sensation almost made him gag. Spiderman fell, lost in a world gone white with pain.  
Peter plummeted to the ground, dazed, as his hand and throat burned. The wind cradled him, harsh against his skin. _Rock-a-by, Spidey_, he thought deliriously as he fell. He swallowed hard, by instinct, and wanted to die immediately. It felt like swallowing live fire.   
  
  
His windpipe began to open as he sucked in the glorious evening air, lungs straining. Bit by bit, air flowed into him as he gasped, struggling to fill his deflated lungs. With his last effort, he lifted his good hand and shot a strand of web at a building he wasn't even sure was there.   
  
  
The line snapped taught and he landed ungracefully on the ground in a deserted alley. Peter rolled onto his side, staring unseeingly down the dirty, dark alley. He lay shuddering in a heap for a moment, curled into a fetal position, face against the filthy pavement. Tears streamed down his face, and his breaths came in uneven sobs. He no longer felt like the hero that had defeated the Green Goblin once already, the amazing Spiderman. He suddenly felt like a child and was keenly aware of a desperate desire for someone to come and make everything all better. He pulled himself into a sitting position, and rocked back and forth, cradling his broken hand, dragging in breaths in gasping whines. The hand was misshapen and throbbing horribly.   
  
  
Drawing his sleeve across his nose and wiping the tears from his cheeks with the back of his good hand, Peter struggled to climb to his feet. He couldn't give up now, the Goblin was on his way to MJ's. Dizziness inundated him when he stood, and he almost went right back down. Suddenly, Peter began coughing violently. Nausea attacked him in waves as he bent over, hands on his knees, coughing in deep, whooping barks. Dropping to one knee, eyes watering, he hacked until he felt he had coughed his lungs up. A coppery taste flooded in his mouth and he spat out blood. He remained kneeling for a moment, waiting until he didn't feel like he would throw up if he moved.   
Straightening up slowly, Peter staggered out of the alley and down the street to MJ's apartment, praying he wasn't too late.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** And the reviews keep coming! I'm shocked when I come on and see the reviews, all of them fantastic. True to my nature, that's as long a "Thanks for the reviews" note that I'll leave. I hope this next part satisfies you all. I believe I had a question about Peter being pulled off the wall in chapter three.   
I understand where you're coming from, Vikki, but don't forget, the Goblin had a high powered engine pushing him. I don't think one of Peter's hands stuck to the wall would be enough to hold on against it, as the other was gripping the web. Then again, I could be wrong.   
And yes, I'm aware he came back in the comics, much like he did in mine. I had no idea of this until after I wrote the fic, lol.  
Thank you for the note, and the great reviews. Enjoy the next chapter.  
~Gobby  
  
  
  


**Chapter Four**  


  
  
  
Peter began to trudge unsteadily to Mary Jane's apartment building. People gave him a wide berth, eyeing his stumbling gait and blank eyes. Watching the dusky sky, he climbed the stairs to the front door, still struggling to breath properly.   
  
He lurched to the front desk and swallowed hard before trying his voice. "Which floor is Mary Jane Watson on?" he asked in a low rasp that sounded nothing like himself.   
The fat woman at the front desk looked at him skeptically, eyeing the necklace of bruises he wore around his puffed and swollen throat. She had shrewd eyes, close together and small. "Mary Jane Watson?" She spoke as though he were an enemy come to gather top secret information.   
  
He nodded, begging silently for her to hurry. "It's an emergency." Speaking almost took all his strength.  
  
She looked him up and down. He couldn't believe it. The Goblin was probably there by now, and he wasn't going to be able to save MJ because some stupid woman wouldn't tell him what floor she was on.  
  
She eyed him for a second more. He passed inspection. "Ninth floor, room 217."  
Peter jogged unsteadily to the elevators and pushed the button over and over again, pleading with it to hurry. The doors dinged and opened, and he weakly tottered in. The adrenaline rush draining from his body was tiring. Swallowing hard as he made his trip alone, he tilted his head back and let it rest against the wall, eyes closed, exhausted.  
The doors dinged once more and opened. Reeling, he wobbled on rubbery legs down the hallway's cheap blue carpet, searching for room 217.  
  
It was the last door on the left. Swallowing and clearing his throat, he pulled his jacket up around it and shoved his hands in his pocket, maneuvering the broken one ever so carefully. It throbbed, and he feared to move it. It felt like if he moved even one finger, all the bones inside would shatter. He wasn't sure what the Goblin had done, but it felt pretty bad.  
  
MJ opened the door with a wide smile. "Hi, where've you been? You look...I don't know, different. Strange."  
  
He smiled tiredly and shook his head, looking over her shoulder at the large window in the back wall. The dusky sky outside was deep orange, turning quickly to purple evening. "No, I'm OK."   
  
She laughed. "Why are you whispering?"  
  
He shrugged, trying to smile a little. "I uh…do strange things sometimes." He shifted his weight uncomfortably. "MJ, I need to come in. Would that be OK?"  
  
She smiled and nodded. "Yeah, sure, come on in. I'm not sure what shape the place is in, but come in." She held the door open for him as he did his best to pull his collar up with one hand. He went straight to the window, opened it and leaned out, looking around at the evening sky.   
  
Empty.   
  
Unsettled, he leaned back in. MJ was watching him with an amused expression. "Peter, are you sure you're all right?"  
  
He nodded, still worried. No way the Goblin just gave up. Maybe he didn't know which apartment was hers? He fought not to scream as his hand pulsed with excruciating pain. "MJ, have you seen anything around here? Strange, I mean?"  
  
She tilted her head and frowned at him. "Yeah, I've seen something strange. Two buildings a couple blocks away just exploded. Didn't you see the smoke and fire from here?"  
  
Peter nodded sadly.  
  
MJ continued, folding her arms against herself protectively as though she were cold. "I'm so scared. It seems everywhere I go, people are hurt --.that it's my fault-- " She swallowed hard.   
  
Peter's face twisted with guilt and pain, but this was pain of the heart. _ Not your fault, MJ, _he thought sadly. _Never yours. Mine.  
_  
"No, MJ, it's not your fault." His voice was almost a whisper, and this time it was shame that was almost preventing him from speaking.   
  
MJ swallowed again and smiled weakly. "Are you sure that you're okay? You sound very strange."  
  
He fingered his throat unconsciously through his jacket. "No, I'm fine," he insisted. "I just wanted to be sure you were…after today, and everything."  
  
Her face darkened again as she looked down. "Yeah, I'm all right," she whispered. "You worried me, that's all. I was…" She laughed a little, self conscious laughter. "I was scared."   
  
He gently tilted her chin upward with his good hand and looked into her eyes. "I'm sorry. Do you, uh…do you want to go get something to eat in a little while?" He could battle the Green Goblin without a second thought, but his legs still turned to rubber when asking her out for quick hamburger.   
  
"Well, I have to go to work at eight o'clock. Taking the late shift. But I'm free before then."  
  
"Then let me get you dinner. Come on, I have money. At home, anyway. I can buy you anything from....a cheeseburger to a hot dog. You name it."   
  
She laughed and nodded. "I would like that." She started to go into another room. "I just have to get my jacket."  
  
His hand pulsed with pain, reminding him that he'd better get it to a doctor before he made it worse. He wanted to get her away from the apartment and lose the Goblin in the streets and many hamburger stands of New York, but he needed something for his hand, a strong painkiller, preferably.   
  
He started to call to her, to ask if he could meet her in a little while, after he had it checked out. He crossed the room to her doorway.   
  
The hair on Peter's arms and neck suddenly stood while he was halfway to the door, and his stomach twisted in terror. His heart leapt as a blood curdling cackle met his ears and a shadow swooped in front of the window.   
  
The window he'd left open.  
  
A small round object flew through the window and rolled to a stop six or seven feet from where MJ stood, hesitating in the doorway, having heard the laugh.   
  
Cold fear sat like a rock in Peter's stomach. As though in slow motion, he leapt towards MJ as she gazed down at the harmless looking sphere about the size of a softball. Green lights blinked along the bomb and a whirring sound issued from it. Recognition flashed in her eyes and she started to turn, but it seemed she was moving slowly, too slowly. A belated yell ripped through his bruised throat, sending waves of pain all the way to his chest. "MJ! Get away from the—"  
  
The explosion blasted MJ across the room. The shock wave hit Peter, too, and the next thing he knew, he was sitting up in front of the door. Waves of achy pain went through his body as he sat up. The shock wave made his head spin. Dazedly shaking his head, Peter staggered to his feet and rubbed his eyes. For a moment, he couldn't remember where he was. All thought was erased from his head for a moment when the bomb went off.   
  
As memory came back in a rush, Peter blanched. _Oh God_, he thought with horror. _I as good as told him which apartment was hers. I leaned out the window and showed him. Stupid, stupid move, Parker!   
_  
Fire licked at everything and noxious smoke was filling the room. Sweat immediately sprang out on him, and his sore, ruined throat began to close at the poisonous air. He coughed, pain tearing through him. Swallowing painfully, he frantically scanned the room for MJ, but to no avail. He didn't see her anywhere.   
  
Praying that she hadn't been blown to pieces by the explosion, Peter dropped to his knees to avoid as much smoke inhalation as possible. Crawling through the apartment on one hand and one elbow, he made his way to MJ's bedroom door.  
  
As he navigated the desolate apartment, something caught his gaze. A pair of legs poking out from under something. A head of red hair.  
  
Panting from fear, he scrambled to her side. She was in a heap against a wall. A piece of ceiling lay on her, and Peter almost sobbed as he tried to figure out how to help her without killing her. He threw the piece of ceiling off her and cried out when he saw her face.   
  
The shock wave had turned one entire side of her face different shades of black, blue and purple with bruises. Her beautiful red hair was now a deeper red, red with her own blood. Blood ran from her nose and ears. He swallowed hard. That meant a head injury. Her left arm was bent at a strange angle, an extra hinge along the forearm. Her right thigh was ripped open to the bone.  
  
He felt eyes on him and his gaze rose to the window. The Goblin hovered, a green armored angel of death. The fire was reflected in the mask's eyes, dancing in them, and he had never looked more like a devil to Peter than in that moment. He was silent for once, not laughing, not speaking, just….watching.   
  
Fury filled Peter, hot and raging through him. His despair and anger and agony all fed each other in a fire, hotter than the one surrounding him. "I'll kill you!" he screamed at the creature in the window. Or rather, tried to scream. It was maddening, wanting to scream out his fury and frustration, but only managing a hoarse yell. Like being in one of those childhood dreams where he couldn't make a sound when the monster was coming for him.  
  
"I'll kill you!"  
  
"Empty threat, Spiderman," the Goblin hissed. "You see these?"   
  
He stood up straight, exposing his abdomen. Two dark gashes in the green metal were visible, breaks in the armor. Dark, almost black scars showed through the holes in the metal. "When I died?"  
  
Another bomb appeared in his right fist, and he punched a button on it. He tossed it through the open window.  
  
"You'll pay now, with her life as well as yours. Give my regards to your whore when you reach the next life."  
  
Peter wanted nothing more than to scream and fling himself at the monster in the window. He wanted to punch the grinning mask until he begged for mercy. Hell, he might even have forgotten about his broken hand while doing it.   
  
He had never had such violent feelings before, and it scared him. But at the same time, it felt good.  
  
For once, Spiderman wanted to cause pain rather than stop it.  
  
_My God, is this how the Goblin feels? Is this what evil feels like?  
_  
Instead, Peter tore his gaze away from the evil eyes and spun to MJ, turning his back on the Goblin. A possibly deadly mistake, but Peter was counting on his spider sense and the fire between him and the window to protect him. He had to get MJ out of the apartment before the bomb went off, that was all that mattered. Peter began to pick her up and screamed with pain when he accidentally tried to use his broken hand. Swallowing, pressing the hand to his mouth, he struggled to overcome the pain, completely stunned for a moment by the intensity of it.   
  
Tears running down his face, heart racing, he scooped MJ gently into his arms, crying out at the feel of her broken body against his arms. Praying the bomb hadn't landed close enough, he staggered to the door, dodging flames. If any burned him, he didn't feel it.   
  
Green light suddenly filled the room, a blinding flash that would have no doubt burned Peter's eyes out or worse had he been looking at it. The concussion from it helped Peter out the door, almost blasting him through it. He suddenly realized it had been one of the bombs he had seen only once before, at the World Unity Festival that seemed so long ago. One of the bombs that had turned the board members into little more than skeletons, and then nothing but dust.  
  
He felt a chill. They could have been killed in an instant, had the bomb landed a few feet closer.  
  
Peter burst through the door. People from other apartments, having heard the noise and smelt the smoke, were rushing to the scene. Several of them gazed open mouthed at Peter, too shocked to do anything. A little girl whimpered and hid her face in her mother's leg.  
  
"Somebody help me!" Peter screamed. A few were shaken from their shock, and a man with long hair in a ponytail arrived. Dry washing his hands, he spoke quickly, glancing at MJ then looking away. Peter could read the unspoken thoughts in the grimace. That looks bad. "I called 911, and they're coming. They said to keep her warm and try not to move her."  
  
Peter barely heard. He sank to his knees, legs buckling, and sat holding MJ's head in his lap. Stroking her hair, he bit back sobs as tears rolled down his face. Blood, her life's blood, was oozing out of her to form a puddle around him. He rocked back and forth, taking deep, shuddering breaths. "Please God, dear God, oh please....."   
  
_The ones I love will always be the ones who pay.  
_  
The parts of MJ's face that weren't bruised or bloody were dead white. Swallowing hard and breathing faster, he grasped her wrist gently, rubbing the back of her hand with the ball of his thumb. His sobs turn into racking coughs, forcing his whole body into spasms with the strength of them. After a moment, they subsided. "MJ.....please come back to me...oh God...You took my parents and Uncle Ben, don't take her, too, oh God, please…"  
  
_Uncle Ben paid…..Aunt May…..even Harry.  
_  
MJ's door across the hall stood ajar, and he gazed through it for a moment, eyes drawn to the window in the back wall. He hated letting the Goblin see him like this, broken, sobbing, praying, but he couldn't help it. He could only hope the villain would leave and not try again. The rage had left him, born of the aftershock of all the events that had gone on, and only a prayer was left, and a plea.   
  
"Please…" he barely whispered, imploring the Goblin with his eyes. Peter wondered if he had even a shred of mercy left. "Kill me, not her. Leave her alone." The Goblin remained motionless for a moment, watching the hero beg him for compassion, then turned the glider and jetted off into the night sky.  
  
Relief filled Peter, and with it, despair. It didn't matter if he'd left. His work was done. Peter was certain MJ was going to die.  
  
He reached down to lightly touch MJ's neck and went weak with relief. A faint pulse beat under his fingers. He started when he realized she was looking up at him with one eye. The other was swollen shut, blackened. Peter forced a weak smile for her benefit. "Hi MJ." He sniffed hard, tears still rolling down his cheeks. "Still want that cheeseburger?"  
She may have smiled. It was hard to tell with the condition her face was in. He lost his own watery smile and swallowed hard, sniffing again. Deep and painful guilt ran through him. It was his fault. His fault this had happened. For the third time, his own identity had caused her pain. On the bridge, where she had almost died because he loved her…in the cemetery, when he couldn't simply be with her and love her…now, once again because he was close to her. He had tried so hard to keep her from danger, but danger had come anyway. And this time there was nothing he could do for her. She was beyond his help, now. Despite his best efforts to keep her safe, she was badly hurt. Maybe dead. And all because of his weakness, because he had strayed back to her. He had known, known with gut certainty that it would not end well if he got close to her. And now, because he'd had the _audacity_ to think that maybe it could work, he'd once more drawn the Goblin's attention to her. And because of that, he now sat, cradling her head in his hands, covered in her blood.  
  
Memories of Uncle Ben's death rushed back to him, memories of holding his hand as he died. That, too, had been his fault. The guilt suddenly struck him, stirred up by the day's events.   
  
_With great power comes great responsibility.  
_  
It had been his responsibility to stay away from MJ to keep her safe. And he'd failed in that responsibility.  
  
"MJ, you will never know how sorry I am." His voice was a broken whisper, barely coming out as he stroked her hair. "I know you probably don't understand why, but I'm....I'm so sorry. I can never tell you how sorry I am." He wiped his nose and cheeks. "I'm sorry I let you get too close to me. God, I'm sorry." The last came out as a painful whisper, barely audible.  
  
Her eye closed while she was looking at him and he felt her neck in a panic.   
He couldn't find a pulse.  
  
_Now MJ pays.  
_  
_You'll pay now, with her life as well as yours.  
_  
The Goblin was mistaken. Peter would not pay with his life. Only hers.  
  
His eyes widened. "Oh God. Oh God."  
  
The paramedics arrived, a stretcher between them. One of them placed a hand on his shoulder and gently tried to move him aside. He sat, solid as a rock, holding MJ. The paramedic, a black man with kind eyes, rubbed his shoulder. "Come on, son. You did good. Let us help her."  
  
Peter released his hold on MJ and fell back against the wall, no longer able to support himself. "I can't find a pulse," he cried desperately. They attached an oxygen mask to her face and lifted her onto the stretcher, strapping her down. The paramedics carried her down the stairs swiftly, taking her from his sight.   
  
The paramedic who'd spoken to him eyed Peter worriedly. "Are you all right son? Let me see your neck."  
  
Peter stared at nothing, in a daze. The paramedic reached out to pull down the collar that had fallen away from Peter's neck. His eyes widened and his expression turned serious as he took in the bruising. The paramedic grasped Peter's hurt hand gently, and Peter gasped, yanking his hand away involuntarily. "Son? Somebody tryin' to hurt you?" He shook Peter a little, gazing into his dazed blank eyes. "Did somebody hurt you?"  
  
Peter nodded then shook his head. "Yes....I don't......I don't know.....no......,"  
The paramedic gently gripped Peter's shoulder and helped him to his feet. "Come on son. You'd best come too."  
  
  
  
A few hours later, Peter sat in a hospital bed, staring at the wall. He didn't remember much of what had happened between MJ's apartment and now, but he had a vague understanding. He supposed he was in shock.  
  
Peter closed his eyes. He didn't understand why the Goblin had practically walked all over him. Sure, he had had the element of surprise and the advantage of the glider, but he'd always had them, and Peter had gotten around them before. What worried him deeply was that one punch had nearly taken Peter out. And then one of Peter's punches hadn't even made the Goblin flinch. He didn't know why the Goblin seemed so much stronger, but it was an unlucky twist, one that Peter needed to overcome.   
  
Peter slowly opened his eyes and looked down at his hands resting on top of the blanket. His right hand was covered in a bandage. A bad fracture ran right through the middle of it, freezing it stiff. Three fingers were broken. His right temple was also bandaged. There was a deep cut on it he hadn't even realized he'd gotten. They hadn't been able to do much for his neck, other than check to see if his windpipe was permanently damaged, which it wasn't.  
  
The doctor hadn't asked any questions during the examination. Peter had offered no answers. He was trying to think them up for the questions he knew would come.  
Peter opened his eyes as the door creaked. His doctor, a balding man in his forties and a kind smile, entered the room holding a clipboard.  
  
He wasn't smiling then. He looked worried, worried for Peter. He went to Peter's machines and checked the IV. He had put Peter on a light painkiller.  
  
"Well, Peter, it doesn't look like you have a concussion. Your right hand has a pretty bad fracture, but it should heal in a couple of weeks. It could have been a lot worse, had you not come in. You could have cracked the fracture into a wider one and permanently damaged your hand. Do you have anyone I can call to tell about your being here?"  
  
"My aunt, May Parker.....Harry...."  
  
"Who's Harry?"  
  
"Harry Osborn, my friend."  
  
The doctor wrote the names down. "OK Peter. We'll get in touch with them right away."  
  
Peter nodded mutely. "What about MJ?" His voice was extremely hoarse.  
  
The doctor sighed and sat down in the little plastic chair next to Peter's bed. "She suffered extensive blood loss. Fractures to the right forearm and leg. Head trauma."  
  
Peter stared at his sheets for a moment, then looked at the doctor. He read the nametag. Dr. Monroe.  
  
"When will she be OK?"  
  
The doctor sighed again and ran a hand through his thinning hair. "Peter, MJ suffered grave injuries. She's in a coma. It's possible she may not wake up."  
  
Peter stared at him for a moment, not comprehending. "But...but I don't.....she looked at me. She woke up, she was awake, I saw it. She can't...." His voice cracked, then lowered to a whisper. "She can't die."  
  
He twisted the edge of his sheet with his good hand and struggled not to break down in front of Dr. Monroe. Dr. Monroe set his clipboard down and leaned forward. "Sometimes, before someone becomes comatose, they may wake from whatever knocked them unconscious. Then they sink into the coma."  
  
Peter was breathing through his nose, blinking back tears. "But...."  
  
Dr. Monroe stood. "It's also possible she may wake up soon. I've seen people recover from comas such as these in a miraculous amount of time. There's really no telling when or if she'll wake up, but just be thankful she's not dead. And be thankful you're not dead."  
  
Peter nodded, staring blankly. "Can I see her?"  
  
The doctor watched him worriedly for a moment and then gave a sad nod. "Sure Peter. Sure you can. I'm going to have to send a nurse to help you, though."  
  
He sat back down. "But first, Peter, I need to ask you a question. How did this happen? And why do you have such terrible bruising on you neck? How did you break you hand?"  
  
Peter stared at nothing for a moment. The doctor leaned in front of him, looking into his empty eyes, and spoke softly. "Peter? I need you to tell me what happened."  
  
Peter looked down at his hands. The wrapping went all the way around his hand up to the wrist. Peter had no memory of having it bandaged. He picked at an edge of the gauze. His voice came out as a whisper. "I can't tell you."  
  
Dr. Monroe leaned back and folded his wrists. "Peter, if someone is trying to harm you, we need to know. Don't be afraid to tell us. We can help you."  
  
Peter bit back a _No you can't _and shook his head. He swallowed and fingered the bruises on his neck. "I, uh…" He swallowed. "Got mugged. The guy…tried to strangle me. I broke my hand in the explosion."  
  
The doctor sighed and ran a hand through his hair again. He obviously didn't believe a word of it, but left it alone for the moment. "Can you tell me what happened at the apartment?"  
  
Peter watched the door for a moment, watching the people walking by. Visiting hours were beginning. "There was an explosion. I don't know why."  
  
The doctor studied him for a moment longer, clearly not satisfied. He nodded. "All right Peter. I'll send someone to take you to see MJ now. They should be here in a little while. I'll check up on you later. When you get back from MJ's room, I want you to sleep. Get stronger."  
  
Peter nodded silently, lost in his own painful world already.  
  
  
  
A few moments later, Nurse Hope Sweeny was wheeling Peter down the hallway to MJ's room. MJ was in critical care. Peter was not.  
  
She pushed him through the door to MJ's room, to the bed. The pale girl in the bed looked worse. The bruises had fully appeared. Her face was swollen and misshapen into a monstrous parody of her usual beautiful features.  
  
Peter swallowed hard. No tears came to his eyes, however. He supposed they had all been cried. He preferred the tears to the aching emptiness he now felt.  
  
Nurse Hope looked at him compassionately, rubbing his back. He was grateful for the simple comfort. His voice came out a whisper. "Can I be alone with her?"  
  
Hope gazed at him for a moment. Technically, she wasn't supposed to leave a patient alone. "How about if I wait in the doorway? I can't leave you alone. I'm sorry, Peter."  
He nodded silently, almost imperceptibly. "OK."  
  
Peter wheeled himself closer to the bed and looked at MJ for a long time. Her breathing was shallow and slow, and he wished with all his might that she was just sleeping, that she would wake up and look at him and smile.   
  
_The ones I love will always be the ones who pay.  
_  
After a while, he reached out and tenderly smoothed her hair away from her face. His voice was barely audible. "I'm sorry."  
  
It wasn't fair. Peter was the one the Goblin wanted. Peter was the one who was targeted.   
  
_It should be me_, he thought desperately.  
  
Leaning back, he continued to sit and look at her for a long time. Hope's heart ached at the expression of utter misery and despair on his face. Peter sniffed hard and swallowed, continuing to stare. He suddenly looked like a little boy with no mother to care for him. The look on his face was enough to almost bring her to tears.  
  
She approached him and sat down next to him in a little plastic chair. When he didn't give any sign of noticing her, Hope cautiously touched his hand. He looked at her as though he hadn't known she was there.   
  
And suddenly, all the fear and worrying and hopelessness came together. His face crumpled, and the tears burst forth as Hope enfolded him in protective arms. Pressing his head to her shoulder, she rocked him in a motherly hug as he sobbed out all the terrible pain he felt.


	5. Chapter 5

{Chapter Five}  


  
  
  
At eleven thirty that same night, Nurse Hope Sweeny sat at her post in Peter's hallway.  Her shift ended in half an hour, and visiting hours had ended half an hour before.    
  
  
The seventh floor hallway was fairly empty.  
  
  
    Sighing, she turned a page in her book.  She had worked in the hospital for years now, and she was still shocked by some of the things she saw.  She supposed they would always shock her.  It was one of the reasons she had become a nurse, so she could do something about the terrible things that happened in the world.    
Turning another page, she glanced at Peter's closed door and sighed again.  She had rarely seen someone in so much pain as he.  He obviously felt Mary Jane Watson's condition was his fault, though he hadn't told her so.  After wheeling Peter back to his room, she had sat with him while he lay awake, obviously still distressed.  He'd fallen into a fitful sleep about an hour before, the exhaustion finally catching up with him.  The medication he was on should have helped him sleep, but it clearly would not come easily.  Nightmares haunted him that Hope couldn't even begin to comprehend.  
  
  
    Suddenly, a man appeared at the end of the hallway.  She did a double take, startled.  He moved so silently it was uncanny.   
  
  
He strode swiftly down the hallway to her and stopped in front of her desk, smiling.  "Good evening, ma'am.  Can you direct me to Peter Parker's room, please?"   
  
   
    She studied him.  An average sized man in his late forties with a smooth smile, something about him struck her. He was familiar looking, for one thing.  _Someone famous?   
  
_  
    "Visiting hours are over, sir."  
  
  
    He shrugged and his smile grew.  "I know, and I apologize, but I have to see him.  I didn't hear about the accident until his friend called me and told me, so I rushed over as fast as I could."  
  
  
    Hope watched him while he spoke, not really listening to the story, but studying the face.  Something about the eyes.  Like he was laughing at her but deadly serious at the same time.  _Almost…insane_. "As I said, visiting hours are over.  Are you friend or family?"  
  
  
    The man looked down at the floor, sadness taking over his face.  "Family.  I'm only an uncle, but he's like a son to me.  His parents are gone.  We're very close."  The smile returned.  
  
  
    Hope shook her head, decision made.  This man was unsettling, and she would not let him in Peter's room.  "I'm sorry, sir.  He fell asleep a little while ago and visiting hours are over.  I really can't allow you to go in there."  
  
  
    He lost the smile.  "Ma'am, I'm begging you.  I need to see him."  
  
  
    Though his voice betrayed no anger, she noticed his fists were tightly clenched, the knuckles white.  
  
  
    "I'm sorry, sir."  
  
  
    He gazed at her for a moment, and she thought his face twisted in fury for a moment, and she held her breath for no reason she could discern.  Then his expression changed, turning unreadable, and she let the breath out, a feeling very much like relief filling her.  He nodded once, and walked slowly back down the hallway, slowly uncurling his fists.    
  
  
    Hope watched him for a moment, then sighed.  Maybe the man was just worried for his nephew.  What could it hurt to let him go in and look for a second?  She'd check on them in a bit.  Hope would have stayed with them, but she couldn't leave her post.  
  
  
    "Sir!"  
  
  
    He turned.  
  
  
    Sighing again, she motioned to the door.  "Go on in.  But only for a few minutes.  And make sure he doesn't wake up."  
  
  
    The man strode back down the hallway to Peter's room, and his grin was back.  "I'll make sure he won't wake up.  As a matter of fact, I promise he won't."  
  
  
    Hope watched as he slipped into the room.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    Norman shut the door behind him quietly.  That stupid nurse had almost caused a lot of trouble.  He had been about to kill her out of pure fury.  
  
  
    Norman ambled silently across the room.  Peter lay asleep, tossing fitfully.  He moaned in his sleep, and Norman stepped back warily.  
  
  
    When Peter's dream phantoms had left him alone, Norman approached again and watched him for a moment longer.  He didn't care if what he was about to do was low down, dirty, and unsatisfying, he needed Peter dead.  It was as simple as that.  
  
  
    Peter shifted again, and the blankets pulled away from his chin.  The Goblin grinned at the sight of the harsh bruises covering his throat. They were especially gruesome in the hospital light.    
  
  
Norman had been deeply angered that Peter hadn't died.  He had been sure he was dead when he dropped Peter off the glider.  He'd thought Peter was unconscious, at least, and falling to his death when he broke his hand.  It had surprised him when he'd seen Peter in the window of an apartment. And then, he's even managed to escape the explosion.  It was maddening, how tenacious Peter's hold on life was.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
But now dear Spidey was unconscious and on painkillers.  Not in a good position to fight.  Not a smart thing to do.  Norman shook his head in a mockingly scolding manner.  So naïve, to think that he was safe in the hospital.   
  
  
Watching his sleeping enemy, he pulled the call button away from Peter's fingers.  
  
  
Stepping to the head of the bed, Norman reached out to cover Peter's nose and mouth.    
  
  
A moment later, Peter began to moan and turn his head.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Peter's eyes shot open suddenly, and he lay for a moment, unable to figure out what had caused him to awaken so suddenly.  A horrible feeling enveloped him, but he couldn't place it.  His arm hair and the hair on his neck was standing straight up, and his instincts were screaming.  
  
  
Blinking in the dim light, struggling to see, Peter realized his spider sense was going off.    
  
  
And he couldn't breathe.  
  
  
Moaning and yelling into the hand covering his mouth and nose, Peter turned his head back and forth weakly.  The painkillers were dulling his senses, and he was exhausted already.  His legs were trapped under the sheets, and he barely had enough strength to lift his arms.  
  
  
His eyes finally adjusted, and he gazed up at the shadowy figure standing beside his bed.  Though he couldn't see the face, he had no doubt who it was, who's fingers were digging into the sides of Peter's face.    
  
  
His yelling quieted into pitiful animalistic squeals.  Coughs suddenly burst through him, rattling his ribcage.  He began to jerk up and down against the hand, hitting his head repeatedly into the pillows.  The hand forced Peter's head down against the pillow, holding it there.  Groping wildly for the call button, Peter's eyes widened even more as he realized it was gone.  In a last attempt to free himself, he opened his mouth as wide as he could get it and bit down on the hand.  
  
  
Teeth crushing down into the skin, Peter viciously ground them together.  He almost gagged at the metallic taste of the blood that spurted from the gashes his teeth made.  The figure hissed and yanked his hand away.  Peter's vision blurred as the figure backhanded him across the face.  He clenched Peter's broken bones and wrenched it to the side.  Peter was horrified and disgusted to hear the whimpering pleas coming from himself, but he couldn't tolerate the pain of having his broken hand twisted backwards.  
  
  
"Please.....let go.....please....."  
  
  
The figure slammed Peter's injury into the bed rail, and clamped a hand around his throat.     
  
  
Peter began to scream.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Nurse Hope Sweeney stood at her desk suddenly.  She thought she heard muffled sounds coming from Peter's room.  Sounds of struggling.  Suddenly, an extremely hoarse scream, little more than a yell erupted in the night.  
  
  
Not wasting a moment, she practically ran to the room, throwing the door open.  She flipped on the light, gasping at the sight that met her eyes.   
  
   
The man was holding Peter's broken hand in a tight grip and twisting, and, at the same time, wrapping his other hand around Peter's already ruined throat.  Peter was weakly trying to fight him off.  Hope stood paralyzed at the scene, unable to think what to do.  She broke through the shock and leapt at the man.  
  
  
Turning at the sudden light, the man snarled and roughly shoved Hope out of his way as he escaped the room.  She snagged his arm on the way out by reflex, yanking him to a halt.  He turned without hesitation and swung a fist at her face.    
  
  
It felt like a sledgehammer slamming into her face.  She was thrown back a few feet into the wall, slumping to the floor, shocked.  A moment later, she dazedly sat up, rubbing her jaw.  It felt like it had been cracked, and she opened and closed her mouth for a moment, shocked by the pain.  "Security!" she screamed.  "Help!"    
  
  
Climbing to her feet, she ran back to her desk and grabbed her walkie talkie.  "Security!  We have a man heading down from the seventh floor.  He was assaulting patients and staff.  Find him quickly!"  
  
  
Breathing hard, she ran back to Peter's room.  Her mouth ached horribly, and it felt like the jawbone wasn't attached the correct way.  Peter was struggling to sit up, breathing in short gasps.  "Nurse...?" he asked weakly, before falling back down.    
  
  
She held him down, trying to calm him.  "Peter, it's OK, he's gone, lay down.  Try to breathe properly.  It'll be OK."  
  
  
He shot up again, eyes wild.  "No!  You have to get him!  Make sure......don't let him.....MJ...."  
  
  
Hope gently gripped his shoulders and laid him down again.  "They're going to find him Peter, don't worry."  
  
  
Peter nodded and sank back against the pillows, thoroughly drained.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A little while later, five or six security guards were standing outside Peter's door, talking in low tones.  Hope ran a hand through her hair and massaged her jaw, which turned out to still be attached the correct way.  "Did you find him?"  
  
  
One of the guards was nursing a black eye while another sported a broken nose.  The others had similar injuries.  A young guard, one with a bloody lip spoke.  "Yeah, we found him."  
  
  
Hope sighed.  "And?"  
  
  
The guard barked a laugh.  "And what do you think?  We couldn't even take him.  We tried to grab him and he beat the crap out of us.  Six of us, one of him, and he was walking all over us.  When we finally tried to shoot, he was running.  We chased him down seven flights of stairs, and all through the first floor, but we don't know where he went.  Lost him somewhere on the first floor.  Long gone by now."   
  
  
Hope sighed.  A moment later, Dr. Monroe was storming down the hallway.  He'd had a long night.  He should have been off duty half an hour ago. He had burn victims.  He had MVA's.  And more burn victims.  Lots of them.  All with the same wild story of a monster on a flying contraption.  Now he had to deal with a madman loose in the hospital that a nurse wasn't smart enough not to let in. "What happened?"  he asked in a tightly controlled voice.    
  
  
Biting her lip, Nurse Sweeny answered.  "A man arrived here a little while ago, saying he was Peter's uncle.  He said he wasn't able to come earlier, and he needed to see Peter.  So I let him in."  
  
  
"Visiting hours were over, am I correct?"  
  
  
Hope hesitated.  "Yes sir."  
  
  
"Did you ask for ID?"  
  
  
Hope stared for a second in shock.  "No.  I didn't.  I can't believe I didn't....I didn't even ask his name."  
  
  
Dr. Monroe looked at her for a moment.  "I think you know I'm disappointed a nurse on my staff would do that, so I won't bother lecturing."  
  
  
He looked at the security guards.  "What happened to all of you?"   
  
  
A guard holding a wad of tissues to his bloody nose sighed.  "We found the guy."  
  
  
Dr. Monroe stared for a moment and then nodded.  
  
  
Suddenly, a elderly woman was practically running down the hallway to them.  "Is Peter all right?  Please tell me he's all right!  I didn't bother to check my messages when I got home, but then I got the call from Harry."  
  
  
Hope listened to the story, garbled with emotion.  She gave the woman a once over and figured she was telling the truth.  She was taking no chances, however. "Try to calm down, ma'am.  Who are you?"  
  
  
Wringing her hands, the woman sniffed once, trying to regain composure.  She stood up straight, the posture of a proud woman.  "I'm Peter's aunt May.  May Parker."  
Dr. Monroe stepped forward.  "Hello, Mrs. Parker.  I'm the doctor attending Peter, and let me assure you he's going to be all right."  
  
  
May sighed in relief.  "Oh, thank God."  She looked around at the bruised faces and the expressions.  "Why do you all look so worried, then?"  
  
  
Dr. Monroe sighed and ran a hand through his graying hair.  "A little while ago, a man arrived here.  He said he was Peter's uncle, and needed to see him.  We let him in."  
He shot a quick glance at Hope, who looked down at the green tile floor, ashamed.    
  
  
"The man then attempted to harm Peter.  He was trying to kill him."  
  
  
Aunt May's eyes widened in shock.  "But Peter's all right."  
  
  
"Peter is fine, Mrs. Parker.  He's sleeping now.  But come with me for a moment.  I need to ask you a few questions."  
  
  
He led her into Peter's room.  Despite Peter's pleas against it, Dr. Monroe had put him on a stronger sedative to help him sleep.  Dr. Monroe intended to have Peter's room watched. Peter insisted that no one they posted could stop the man, but Monroe figured Peter was just frazzled and disturbed by the days events.  Monroe was certain the guy wouldn't return.    
  
  
The boy needed sleep if he was to recover, no ifs ans or buts.  The sedative appeared to be working, because although Peter's face was still haggard and drawn, his eyes were closed in deep sleep.  May gasped at the sight of his neck and hand, and the fierce protection and love she felt flared in her eyes. Her voice lowered to a whisper.  "Who would do such a thing?"  
  
  
"That's what we asked him.  He refused to tell us, or couldn't.  He was in terrible shock over his friend."  
  
  
May looked at him.  "His friend?"  
  
  
"He came in with Mary Jane Watson."  He cleared his throat.  "She's in a coma.  Her apartment exploded.  We don't know how yet."  
  
  
Tears shimmered in her eyes.  "Oh...the poor girl...poor Peter…"  
  
  
"Mrs. Parker, do you know anything about this man who is trying to harm them?  Peter's neck looked like this when he came in, not after the man left.  He looked like this before the man arrived."  
  
  
Aunt May sniffed and tried to gain composure.  "What did this man look like?"  
  
  
Hope, who was standing in the door way, spoke.  "Late forties, I guess.  Brown hair, blue eyes, I think. Average height.  Wiry."  
  
  
Aunt May shook her head.  "I can't tell by that.  I'm sorry."  
  
  
Hope frowned, remembering.  "I could have sworn I knew him from somewhere…I recognized him.  Not like someone I knew personally, but knew from the newspaper, or something."  
  
  
Aunt May frowned, too.  "Wait a minute…brown hair, you said? Blue eyes, and wiry?"  
  
  
Hope nodded.  "I think so."  
  
  
Aunt May thought for a moment.  "I can't think of anyone alive that would fit that."  
  
  
Hope shrugged.  "Must have just looked like someone I knew, then."  
  
  
The doctor sighed.  "Well, he's gone now.  We won't find him.  From this moment on, no one except those that Mrs. Parker recognizes will be allowed into his room.  I'm taking no chances."  
  
  
Aunt May nodded.  "Thank you, doctor.  May I stay and sit with him?"  
  
  
The doctor studied her for a moment and nodded.  "Yes, just please make sure you don't wake him up.  He needs sleep more than anything."  
  
  
May nodded, eyes still watery, and pulled the chair near the window to the bed.  The others left as she sat down to keep watch over Pete, as protective as a lioness with her cub.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Norman Osborn paced in his laboratory once again.  Fists clenched, he turned to face the mask on the chair.  
  
  
_He was unconscious, on painkillers.  Alone in the room.  And he's still alive.  
  
_  
Norman ran a hand through his hair.  The Goblin's voice was low, hissing with barely controlled rage.  "What did you want me to do? The damned nurse walked in, it would've taken too long.  We would've been caught."  
  
  
_You should have gotten rid of her!  
  
_  
Norman clenched his fists tighter.  He knew he had screwed up, and was furious at himself.  He had made some bad mistakes in his life, and it looked offering Spiderman friendship rather than just killing him so long ago would be one of them.  
  
  
A faint voice came to him.  _Maybe testing your own product on yourself was the mistake, Norman_, it said.  It was his conscience.  A voice he had lost, forgotten about.    
_Stop yourself for good before it's too late.  
  
_  
He shoved the thought and what it implied away and concentrated on the other voice.  
  
  
"It was instinct to leave. It seemed it would have taken too long to kill both of them."  
  
  
_We didn't even have to kill the nurse. We could have just knocked her unconscious.  
  
_  
Norman didn't bother answering, knowing this was a lost argument. "What do we do now?"  
  
  
A malicious laugh filtered through his head.  _Now we do it my way, Osborn.    
  
  
  
  
  
_  
  
Peter awoke the next day at eleven o'clock.  An overcast day greeted his bleary eyes.  Blinking, rubbing the sleep from them with his good hand, he winced.  His broken hand hurt even more, though for a moment, he couldn't remember why.  
  
  
Peter stretched as best he could with the bandage on his arm and yawned.  Turning his head, he realized that Aunt May was sitting looking at him.  She did her best to smile brightly. "Good morning, Peter."  
  
  
He smiled weakly. His voice was little more than a rasp with some tone to it.  "Hi, Aunt May.  What's up?"  
  
  
    She was obviously distressed to see him in so much pain, but she kept her bright smile for his benefit.  She rubbed his arm.  "How do you feel, Peter? Does your hand hurt badly?"  
  
  
"No," he lied.  "It's fine.  When did you get here?"  
  
  
She rubbed her eyes and shifted position, stretching.  "Oh, it must have been about eleven forty-five last night.  Harry's here, too, but I think he went to get some coffee from the cafeteria."  
  
  
Peter nodded and yawned.  "You should go home, Aunt May.  You're probably tired, and I'm fine.  I'll be all right if you want to go home."  
  
  
Aunt May's expression darkened.  "No, Peter.  I'm not leaving you, not with what happened last night.  Who was that man?"  
  
  
Peter looked away and didn't answer for a long moment.  "I don't know.  Must have been just some crazy guy."  
  
  
Aunt May wasn't buying it.  "He knew your name.  He said he was an uncle of yours, and you two were very close.  Do you know who he was?"  
  
  
"No," Peter said softly.  He hated lying to his aunt, but it was necessary.  Now that he had two identities, it was necessary more and more.  He silently cursed the spider he'd been bitten by.  "I couldn't see his face.  It was too dark."  
  
  
Aunt May's face creased into a worried expression.  "But how did you get those bruises?  The doctor said you had them before coming in."  
  
  
"I got mugged.  Walking to MJ's yesterday.  A guy mugged me, and was strangling me when I told him I had no money.  Ran off when he heard someone coming."  
Aunt May rubbed his good hand.  "I'm sorry Peter.  Seems you didn't have a good day yesterday."  
  
  
Peter shook his head.  "No," he whispered.  "I didn't."  He looked at her with tortured eyes.  "Did you see MJ, yet?"  
  
  
Aunt May looked down sadly and shook her head.  "Not yet.  I wanted to wait until you woke up, and she's in critical care, so I have to wait for visiting hours."  
  
  
Peter nodded.  Harry suddenly appeared in the door, holding two cups of coffee.  Peter's expression brightened a little.  "Hey Harry.  What's up?"  
  
  
Harry gave one of the cups to Aunt May who gratefully accepted.  "Well, I had to sneak past a bunch of doctors and nurses to get this coffee here.  I was almost run over by a gurney.  And my best friend is in the hospital.  How's your day been?"  
  
  
    Peter smiled faintly.  "I've slept so far.  That's it."  
  
  
    Aunt May chuckled at the two.  "Oh, Peter, good news.  Dr. Monroe said that because you don't have a concussion, and your hand should heal well, you can be discharged today. They just want to be sure there are no complications with your throat, though, so they're not sure when exactly."  
  
  
    Peter nodded, his spirits once again low.  Harry went to the window and gazed out, sadly watching the sky above the city.  Large black clouds were rolling in. Another storm was arriving.    
  
  
    Harry turned to Peter.  "How's MJ?"  
  
  
    Peter stared at his feet for a moment before speaking.  His tone was quiet and tortured. "She's in a coma."  
  
  
    Harry sank into a chair and ran a hand over his face.  "God.  What happened?"  
  
  
Peter closed his eyes and shook his head.  "I don't know.  All of a sudden, there was this explosion.  Maybe there was a gas leak or something, I don't know."  
  
  
Harry shook his head sadly.  "I'm sorry, Pete."  
  
  
    Aunt May rubbed Peter's arm comfortingly, then stood.  "I'm just going to go to the ladies room for a moment, and then maybe to the cafeteria. I'll be right back, Peter.  Harry, you'll stay here, won't you?"  
  
  
    Harry nodded. "Yeah, of course I will."  
  
  
    May nodded and pulled the door shut behind her.  
  
  
    Harry stood again and went to the window.  A fork of lightning shot down from the impending clouds and thunder accompanied it a few moments later.  He cleared his throat and shifted position uncomfortably.  Peter could tell there was something on his mind, and he waited patiently.  After fidgeting for a few more moment, Harry spoke.  "So uh....what were you doing with MJ yesterday?"  
  
  
Peter almost laughed.  Almost.  They were in a hospital, MJ was in a coma, the Green Goblin was back from the dead and trying to kill Peter, and Harry was worried about what Peter and MJ were doing.    
  
  
Peter waited to get control of himself before answering.  "I went over to see if she was OK, after the explosion at the theater."  
  
  
Harry stared at him incredulously.  "You guys were there, too?  What, is someone trying to assassinate you?"   
  
  
Peter bit back another giddy laugh.  "Just bad luck, I guess."  
  
  
He closed his eyes for a moment. The bruises on his throat felt like they were choking him, and talking made it worse.  His voice barely worked, anyway.  Wincing, Peter eased his throbbing hand into a more comfortable position.  The painkillers were making him drowsy, and he was dropping off to sleep again when Harry suddenly spoke.  "What the hell is that?"  
  
  
    Peter's eyes shot open.  "What is what?"  
  
  
    Harry stepped away from the window, eyes fixed on something outside.  "There's something...."   
  
  
    Peter struggled to sit up in the bed as Harry backed further away from the window.  "Harry, what is it?"  
  
  
    Harry stared, rigid, out the window.  Gripping the bar around the bed, Peter yanked himself into a sitting position.  Shaking his head to clear the wooziness, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and followed Harry's gaze.  
  
  
    His heart leapt into his throat.  Sure enough, the Goblin was drawing a line across the sky, straight for the hospital. _When is this guy gonna stop?_  "Harry, get out of here! Get away from the window! Leave, now!"  
  
  
    Rooted to the spot, Harry watched as the Goblin stopped outside the window.  Peter pulled the IV out of his arm.  Teetering on his feet, he went unsteadily to the window and struggled to pull Harry away.  "Come on! Harry, move!"    
  
  
The mask's eye visors were up again.  Peter could clearly see the rage and hatred dancing in those eyes, dancing with madness.  With those horrible eyes on Peter, the Goblin produced a bomb.  He pulled back his arm to throw it and Peter's eyes widened in  fear and sudden realization.  There would be no partnership offered this time.  There would be no chance to fight back and maybe win.  This wasn't a fight.  He was going blow Peter to bits, not to mention the other helpless hospital inmates.  
This was a cold blooded murder.    
  
  
    Peter stared straight into the Goblin's terrible eyes and lifted his chin, in a pointless act of defiance.  He tensed as the Goblin started to throw the bomb and said goodbye to the world.  
  
  
The Goblin suddenly froze.    
  
  
Gaze now locked on Harry, he hesitated.  Harry's eyes widened in shock and fear.  The Goblin hovered, visibly torn.  Heart pounding, Peter didn't move, utterly baffled as to what was wrong.  The Goblin had him cold. He could kill Peter in an instant, and yet he hesitated, as though fighting a battle with himself.  The three of them waited like that, frozen, waiting to see what the Goblin would decide. Lives were being decided in those few seconds that seemed like eternity to Peter.  
  
  
    Finally, the Goblin roared and hit something else on the bomb.  The lights went off.  To Peter's utter shock, he pulled the glider into a turn and was off.    
  
     
    Harry stood, mouth open, eyes wide, staring after the speck in the sky.  "Uh....did he just leave?"  
  
  
    Peter, whose mouth was also agape, nodded slowly.  "Yeah.  I think he did."  
  
  
    "But why?"  
  
  
    Peter shook his head just as slowly.  "I don't know....it was like he saw you and then....."  
  
  
    Harry was bewildered.  "And what?  He left because of me?"  
  
  
    Peter suddenly understood.  Harry was Mr. Osborn's son.  Mr. Osborn was the Green Goblin.  Though Peter still had trouble associating Mr. Osborn with the goblin, it was the truth.  And as Harry's father, of course he wouldn't want to kill him!    
  
  
    Harry was watching Peter work through the fairly obvious solution in his head.  "Peter?  Why'd he leave? What was that?"   
  
  
    Peter thought quickly.  "Uh....maybe he left because....maybe he was after someone specifically, and we weren't him.....maybe he just left...."  
  
  
    Harry scratched his head, baffled.  "Peter, you're not making sense.  And besides that, who was that?"  
  
  
    A million answers sprang to Peter's mind, but he only sighed, choosing not to give any of them.    
  
  
    "Wasn't that.... that thing from the Festival a few months ago?  The thing the Daily Bugle named?"  
  
  
    "The Green Goblin."   
  
  
    Harry nodded. "Yeah, that's it.  Was that....was that him?"    
  
  
    Peter slowly nodded.  "Yeah.  I think it was."  
  
  
    "What did he want?"  
  
  
    Peter went back to his bed, moving slowly.  Speaking so much was tearing his throat apart.  He swallowed painfully and said hoarsely, "I really don't know what he wanted. Who can say?"  
  
  
    Harry shook his head.  "He's probably the one blowing all this stuff up.  What're the odds you've been everywhere?  Bad luck, Pete."  
  
  
    Flopping back down on the bed, Peter nodded.  "Yeah," he said weakly.  "I know."  
  
  
    He pulled the blankets up to his chin and closed his eyes.  "Hey Harry?" he asked sleepily.  
  
  
    "Yeah?"  
  
  
    "You're not leaving soon, are you?"  
  
  
    "I was gonna stick around for a while.  Why do you ask?"  
  
  
    "No reason."  
  
  
    Spiderman curled onto his side, hugged the pillow to his face, and fell asleep.  
  



	6. Chapter 6

Four hours later, Peter was being rolled out of the hospital by his Aunt May.  "Seriously, Aunt May," he insisted.  "I can walk.  You don't have to—"  
  
    May shook her head.  "Peter, you heard the doctor.  You have to take it easy. And this is easy."  
  
    Peter glumly resigned himself to being pushed around like a baby in a stroller.  "That's just what they tell everyone leaving the hospital."  
  
    Harry grinned, throwing Peter's backpack over his other shoulder.  "Whatsa matter Peter?  Don't like being babied?"   
  
    Peter managed a half-hearted scowl at Harry.  Harry smirked back.  
  
    As May rolled him down the sidewalk to her car, Peter's spirits dropped once more.  Harry was trying to cheer him up, though it was clear he didn't feel like bantering with his wheelchair ridden best friend.    
  
There was no change with MJ.  Her mother had arrived, with tears in her eyes, and for the brief moment they had spoken, Peter felt she was silently blaming him.  She couldn't know, of course, but when confronted by the mother of the woman he loved, Peter had been certain she could see right through him into his mind, could see that it was his fault her child was in the hospital fighting for her life.  
  
     Dr. Monroe had questioned him once more about the man trying to kill him, and Peter had once more provided half answers and truths.  Well, no truth.  He'd told them he had no idea who that man was, and he must have just been some nut that got his name somehow.  They'd been reluctant to let him go, but he'd insisted "the man" was gone, and since there were no complications with his injuries, they had no reason to keep him.    
  
Shooing Aunt May's insistent helping hands away, Peter slid into the front seat.  Harry tossed his backpack in the back seat and wheeled the wheelchair back to the hospital.  When he'd returned, May drove them both to their apartment and dropped them off.  
  
    "Now you'll remember what the doctor said?  About taking it easy?"  
  
    Peter nodded, completely subdued by the stern glare she had them both under.  "Yeah, I'll remember."  
  
    Her motherly gaze shifted to Harry.  "And you'll make sure he does?"  
  
    Harry unconsciously stood up a little straighter and cleared his throat under her gaze.  "Yes, ma'am."  
  
    She studied both of them for a moment more as if judging their sincerity. Apparently satisfied, she nodded. "All right then.  Goodbye, boys.  I love you, Peter.  Good to see you, Harry."  
  
    Harry nodded and Peter gave her a quick one armed hug.  "Love you, too, Aunt May.  I'll keep in touch."  
  
    They watched for a moment as May drove off.  Harry turned and started walking.  "You're lucky, Pete," he said.    
  
Peter jogged a little to catch up.  "I'm lucky?  How so?"  
  
    Harry shrugged as they made their way up the stairs to the apartment.  "Well, to have someone like that always there for you.  If I was in the hospital, you would come.  I think that's about it."  
  
    Peter frowned.  "Harry, my aunt would come for you, too.  She loves the both of us.  I mean, how long have we been friends?  She's there for you, too, like you were her nephew."  
  
    Harry shrugged and slung Peter's bag over his other shoulder.  "I guess.  But you're still luckier than I am.  The only family I really had and knew….or tried to know, anyway….was stolen from me."  
  
    Peter's eyes dropped as his face burned.  Every time Harry mentioned that, Peter was sure Harry would know with one look at his face that he was Spiderman.  And though he knew he'd had no choice, he still felt as though he had stolen his friend's father.  Because of his gift.  His curse.  
  
    "Harry…did you ever think that maybe it wasn't Spiderman?  Maybe Spiderman tried to save him?….Or just found him like that?"  
  
    Harry glared at him, eyes burning.  "No.  Spiderman brought my father, dead, back to the mansion.  He didn't explain anything.  It was him."  
  
    Peter nodded.  It was useless.  Harry needed someone to blame, and it looked like it was going to be Spiderman, no matter what.  Once more, Peter cursed the spider that had bitten him.  
  
  
  
  
    Norman sat in the lab, head in his hands, rubbing his eyes.  "No.  This is one thing I won't do."  
  
    _But you want to.    
_  
    "No, I don't.  I would never drag him into this."  
  
    _Don't lie to me!  Besides, we can use the help.  Who better to help us than someone living with him?  
_  
    Norman only shook his head.  "No."  
  
    _You're his father.  Tell him a little story, ask for help.  He'll jump at the chance.  
_  
    "Peter is his friend!  He won't kill his friend!"  
  
    _Given enough reason, enough incentive?  He will.  
_  
    Norman snorted a little. He had treated his son like crap for nineteen years.  He hadn't appreciated him, he hadn't helped him any, he'd only looked at Harry's faults and pointed them out.  Norman loved Harry more than anything, but he hadn't been a good father.  He'd wanted Harry to be the best man he could, and as a result, he'd relentlessly bullied Harry.  Norman felt a faint sense of self-disgust, but whether it was from the Goblin or himself, he wasn't sure.  He'd realized too late that he could have done so much more for Harry. By the time he had realized that, killing his son's best friend and ex-girlfriend had seemed the best way to make up for nineteen years of misery.   
  
    No way would Harry kill Peter for his father.  
  
"He won't do it, but if he did, then what?  He goes to jail when he's caught?"  
  
    _He wouldn't even have to kill him.  Just bring him to me.  You're dead already, remember? Who'll accuse us?  
_  
    Norman jumped up and paced, an old habit.  The Goblin always found a way around Norman's defenses.  He always won the arguments, always bent Norman to his will.  Norman felt helpless.  He stopped, fists clenched, and blew out a breath.  "Please." His voice was barely above a whisper.  "Please, don't make me drag my son into this.  He shouldn't be a part of this.  We can do it alone."    
  
    _Is that so? _The voice lowered to a sinister hiss._ Is that why Spiderman is still alive? Is that why we flew away when we could have killed him in an instant? Because we can do it alone?  
_  
    "My son was standing there!  I wasn't about to kill my own son!"  
  
Exactly. He would've died because he's close to Spiderman.  His own fault.  He's getting in the way.  He helps us, or he dies next time.  We can't let something as petty as this stop us.  
  
Norman's voice lowered to a menacing tone.  "I said no."  
  
_I will kill him if you don't do it.    
_  
Norman froze.  
  
_And you will watch.  You will be there for it, because there's nothing you can do. I'm stronger than you and you know it.  
_  
    Norman closed his eyes, utterly trapped.  He did know that.  He, of all people, knew that the Goblin was stronger, but if he ever did anything to harm Harry…Norman would fight it with everything he had, every ounce of willpower he possessed.  "Fine," he said quietly.  "He'll bring Spiderman to us.  Nothing more."  
  
_    Done._  
  
  
  
  
  
_Spiderman stood on the bridge, the cold wind against his face.  The night was filled with the sound of the cars screeching to a halt in front of the fire beneath him and the ocean roaring in his ears.  Hot flame beneath him, cold sky above him.  Red against black all around.  Red and blue against green on the bridge.  These thoughts danced wildly through Spiderman's head as his legs weakened at what he saw.  
  
MJ once more dangled over the black water, black to match the sky,  screaming for his help.  The tram full of kids rocked in the cold wind, all crying and sobbing for him to save them.  The Green Goblin's plan had worked perfectly.  He had shattered Spiderman's heart with the choice.  
  
"Don't do it, Goblin!"    
  
His words sounded slow and helpless to his own ears.  MJ pleaded with him, pleaded with the Goblin, pleaded with God.  The children screamed and cried.    
  
And suddenly, the children were gone.  Harry now stood alone in the tram, but was calm.  "You killed my father.  Now you'll let me die, too?"  
  
"No, Harry!  I didn't mean for it to happen…."  
  
The Green Goblin raised his arms higher and howled his lunatic rage though the night to Spiderman, the terrible voice filling Spiderman's head.  
  
"We are who we choose to be!  NOW CHOOSE!"  
  
And the tram was suddenly gone, only MJ was falling.  But he was too late.  He would always be too late.  
  
He swung through the cold wind, trying to save MJ from her inevitable end.  A horrific explosion went off in a blast of blinding green light as his arms encircled MJ.   
  
He was suddenly kneeling on the floor, cradling a broken, bloodied MJ.  He was screaming and begging her forgiveness, the maniacal cackling filling his head and driving him insane.  "I'm sorry!" he cried out hysterically.  "I'm sorry!  I'm sorry!  Please forgive me!"  
  
"Please – "  
_  
Peter sat up in bed, gasping for air, tears running down his face.  The sheets were tangled around his legs, and his mouth was as dry as sandpaper.  A cold sweat covered him, chilling him to the bone. He could still feel it, the terrible cold of the wind that night on the bridge.  The ache in his bones, made all the worse by the fear.    
  
He sat for a moment, rocking back and forth, dragging in deep shuddering breaths.   His hand felt as though it were on fire, and his throat hurt.  He must have yelled in his sleep.  Harry's snores floated through Peter's open door.  He had no idea of the phantoms haunting his best friend's dreams.  Peter could still feel the words on his tongue, and feel the burn in his throat.  The nightmare filled his mind, the fear still running through him, almost paralyzing him.    
  
Peter untangled his legs by the light of a streetlamp shining through his window, casting eerie shadow patterns around the room. He got unsteadily to his feet and staggered into the bathroom, missing the light switch on the first try.  He went to the sink, hunched over it and turned the faucet on, splashing cold water on his face, trying to rid himself of the nightmare.  After vigorously rubbing his face for a few seconds, he turned the faucets off and looked in the mirror.  A pale, scared face looked back with haunted eyes.  "Just a dream," he whispered to his reflection.  "Just a dream."  
  
Broken images and events from the nightmare ran crazily through his mind, mixing into a confusing blur as he made his way back to his room in the dark.  The dream was already fading a little, the  horror dissipating a tiny bit.  The image of holding a dying MJ was vivid, though, and Peter repeated his plea from the dream, whispered this time.  
"I'm sorry, MJ.  Please forgive me."  
  
Taking deep breaths, Peter laid back down, rearranging the blankets around his legs, trying to calm himself.  He swallowed painfully. Closing his eyes, he thought of MJ, lying in a hospital at the same moment, eyes also shut, but in coma.   
  
One aspect of the dream bothered him.  Everything else was terrible to be sure, but one thing stuck out in his mind.  He couldn't remember who was in the tram.  He   
remembered someone in the tram, remembered a sinking feeling when the person spoke.  But nothing else.  
  
It was three a.m. when he finally fell back into a troubled sleep, the dream faded into an unpleasant blur.   
  
  
  
  
  
Harry sat alone at his desk the next night, tapping a pencil against the wood.  The book in front of him made no sense.  He'd taken a book out of a library about business, looking for a little help, but it was more confusing than trying to do it by himself.  Peter was out, or else Harry would have asked for help.  The young photographer was at the newspaper office, begging Mr. Jameson's forgiveness about having to stay in the hospital after almost being killed.    
  
    He tossed the pencil down and snapped the book shut, exasperated.  At this rate, Oscorp would be dead before he could do anything for it.  Sitting for a moment, he raked a hand back through his thick hair, and blew the air out of his cheeks, an unconscious imitation of his father.  "I can't do this, Dad," he whispered.  "I need help."  
  
    Harry sighed and rested his head in his hands, elbows on the desk.  He shut his tired eyes for a moment and though about the past days' events.  MJ was still in the hospital, and Harry, though she had betrayed him for Peter, of all people, was deeply upset.   
 Harry couldn't be angry at Peter, he was his only friend, but it still hurt.  It was MJ's fault that she had strayed to Peter.  Anger flared at the memory of the glances between her and Peter at Thanksgiving dinner, holding hands at the hospital….  
  
    _You think a woman like that's sniffing around because she likes your personality?  
_  
    Harry sighed again, his father's harsh but true words still in his head.  "You were right, Dad," he whispered.  "You usually were."   
  
    The phone suddenly rang, and Harry sighed.  He rubbed his bleary eyes for a second, considering letting the machine get it before he picked it up.  
  
    "Hello?"  
  
    "Harry?"  
  
    Harry frowned. He could have sworn he recognized the voice, but he wasn't sure…    
  
    "Who is this?"  
  
    "Harry, listen to me.  Come to Oscorp.  Right now.  Lab C35.  Go quickly."  
  
    The voice was hauntingly familiar…..deep, a little raspy……  
  
    "Who is this?"  
  
    "Go.  Now."  
  
    Harry held his breath, irrational hope in his heart.  "Dad?"  
  
    Click.  
  
    Harry stared at the phone receiver in his hand for a second, afraid to believe.  A moment later, he leapt to his feet and grabbed his coat, running, almost stumbling down the stairs.  On his way through the kitchen, he paused suddenly, wondering if he should tell Peter where he was going.  
  
No.  Something about the whole situation struck him, something in the tone of the caller's voice.  _Don't tell anyone._  He hadn't said it, but it was implied.    
  
    Harry continued on his way.  A thought struck him when he was at the door.  
  
_    Should I even go?  Could this be true?  
_  
    After hesitating a moment longer, Harry made his decision.  He needed to know.  He needed to know who the voice was and what he wanted.  Harry locked the newly fixed door behind him and headed down the stairs.  
  
  
  
  
  
Peter rode the elevator to the top floor, eyes shut, head against the wall.  His jaw cracked as he let out a yawn.  
  
    Striding down the hallway after exiting the elevator, Peter sighed for no real reason.  Jameson hadn't really cared as to why Peter hadn't been there for two days, he'd just been the littlest bit concerned that his photographer of Spiderman had almost died.  Peter assumed that was as compassionate as the man could be to him and took it as a compliment.  
  
    After talking to JJ, Peter had spent three hours with MJ, just sitting beside her bed as she remained comatose.   
  
Adjusting the sling around his neck, Peter rooted through his pockets with one hand, searching for his keys.  Rather than a cast, they'd sent him home with a very large, thick bandage around his hand.  They couldn't put a cast on his hand, or else the fingers wouldn't heal properly.  They'd put metal braces on each of the broken fingers – his pinky, his middle finger and his pointer – and wrapped the hand itself in an extremely thick bandage.  The bandage went around his palm, across the back of his hand, above the thumb.  His fingers only had hairline fractures that would heal in a week, two at most, so he could take the metal casts off when he pleased.  Of course, they advised him to leave them on, but it was hard to go through a week using three metal encased fingers.  He knew how to snap them open and take them off.  The fingers were wrapped in adhesive tape underneath so they weren't completely unprotected should he take the braces off.  They'd also sent him home with a sling, just so he wouldn't have to hold all that bandaging up constantly.  
  
    Peter finally got the door open.  Yawning again, he tossed his keys on the table and took his jacket off, which was somewhat harder to do than usual.  Peter stretched.  He was beat.  It had been a long day.  A long week.    
  
    He collapsed onto the couch and closed his eyes.  All he needed was a catnap.  Just a little sleep to get going again.  He couldn't fall asleep too long, or the goblin might come for him.  
  
    Peter groaned.  "Who am I kidding?  I'm going to bed.  If he kills me, at least I won't know it's happening."  
  
    It took him three tries to get to his feet, but eventually he did.  Knees cracking like an old man, Peter slowly stumbled to the stairs.  Time for bed.  
  
He was halfway up the stairs when the quiet of the apartment suddenly struck him.  It wasn't the usual quiet, but an empty sort of silence.  The empty feeling when no one was home.  
  
    "Harry?"  
  
    No answer.  
  
    "Harry, you home?"  Still no answer.  "Huh, must be out," Peter decided.  He looked at his watch.  "Eleven o'clock?  He didn't say anything about going out tonight."  
  
    An uneasy feeling started to grow in him and he suddenly felt wide awake.  Something was wrong, he could feel it in his gut.  
  
    Peter went back down the stairs into the kitchen and flipped on the light. No note lay on the kitchen table, no message of any kind.  Peter snatched up the phone and quickly punched in Harry's cell phone number.  He hung up when he noticed Harry's phone was lying on the kitchen counter.  OK, so he wasn't at home, he didn't take his cell phone.  Where would he be?  Peter paced, trying to figure out what to do.  It was possible nothing was wrong.   Maybe Harry went to the store or something.    
  
    _At eleven p.m.?  Think again, Parker.  
_  
Maybe he had a date.  Maybe he had a meeting.   
  
_Maybe you should stop playing the maybe game. Think, Parker, where would he go?_  
It took him about three seconds to come to a conclusion.  
  
No longer sleepy, Peter sprinted up the stairs and into his room, praying he wouldn't be too late.  He carefully slid into his Spiderman costume, using all the skill he could to slide on the tight material with one hand.  He could attempt to web to Oscorp one handed, and supposed it would work, but he would have to be very careful.  Wouldn't do any good to die on the way there.  
  
Snatching the mask and gloves out of the box he kept it all in, he pulled the sling off and tossed it carelessly on the bed.  It was a liability, a bother.  Impulsively, he unsnapped the three metal braces on his hand and left them on the bed, too.  Should he need his hand, he'd rather use it and maybe hurt it more than save it and end up dead.  
Peter's raptor gaze swept the room as he opened the window.  He had everything he needed.  Except for time.  The one thing he was running out of.  Time.  
  
Peter swiftly climbed out the window, heading towards what felt like the final battle.  
  



	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: I'm sorry I made you all wait so long for these last few chapters, thank you for waiting so patiently. Ah yes, and thank you for the reviews, can't forget that. Now go ahead and read the next chapter, and enjoy.  
~Gobby  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Harry stood in the lobby of the laboratory building of Oscorp. It was dark and dank, and Harry was having second thoughts about meeting the caller. What-ifs were attacking him.  
  
  
What if it's just some nut, a killer looking for fun?   
  
  
No, he knew my name. He called me specifically. He has a reason.  
  
  
Harry pulled his coat around him tighter and trotted down the stairs that lead to the basement labs. More thoughts bombarded him. What if he's not here? What if I'm in the wrong building?   
  
  
What if it's not him?  
  
  
What if you stop thinking like this, get down there, and see what the hell this guy wants.  
  
  
Harry shut off anymore negative thoughts and concentrated on not getting lost in the huge building. He'd only been there once in his life. His father had taken him when he was young. Take Your Kid to Work Day or something. His dad had been with him about thirty seconds before rushing off to do something, having to leave Harry with an assistant. He'd come back to check on Harry a few hours later, apologizing. Shortly after, he disappeared again. The assistant, a kind middle aged woman had ended up staying with Harry most of the day.   
  
  
That was when Harry had first found out just how important his father's work was, and how insignificant he himself was when compared to it.  
  
  
Harry sighed at the memory. He had been seven when he realized how important and busy his father was. He'd thought being rich was pretty cool at first, once he was old enough to grasp the concept. But then, after a while, he had begun to see what other fathers did. He saw the other kids with their dads at the park, or being helped with their homework, just little things like that. But the little things were what hurt the most. The fact that his father had no time to throw a baseball back and forth for ten minutes, or to eat a hamburger with him was what hurt.   
  
  
Harry sadly turned off of Memory Lane, coming back to the present. Signs adorned the walls. Harry squinted at one of them in the darkness. "Labs C30 through…..C35. It's down here." He was talking aloud to fill the silence. The huge building was giving him the creeps, especially the creaks and groans every now and then.  
  
  
"Should've brought a flashlight," he muttered to himself. Should've, could've, would've.  
  
  
Suddenly, a faint light met his eyes. He peered into the darkness, at the sliver of brightness standing out against the black. Light through the crack of a slightly open door. Relieved at the break in the solid black, Harry quickly made his way down the hallways to the door.  
  
  
"Lab C35," he read off the door, making sure of it.   
  
  
Pushing the door open slowly, Harry poked his head into the room. "Hello?"  
  
  
No answer. No one in sight. Dim lights were on, giving the room's green floor an eerie glow. Harry's gaze traveled to the ceiling. Small lights along the edges of the ceiling were lit, but the huge long ones filling the middle of the ceiling were not. "Must be a back-up generator or something," Harry mused. "Anybody here?" Still no answer. "Hello! Is anybody here?" It almost felt wrong, violating the deep silence, but he needed to know who called him.   
  
  
A huge glass case stood in the middle of the room, more of a smaller room with glass walls. Doors were visible on the farthest wall of it from him, and a metal track led into a slot in another of the glass walls. One of the walls was gone, apparently shattered. A metal gurney with broken restraints stood in the middle of the small room, obviously attached to the track.   
  
  
Harry's gaze traveled the rest of the larger room in awe. Several computers were placed throughout the cavernous space, and there were metal sets of shelves containing bottles, computer discs, and things he couldn't identify.  
  
  
Suddenly, the hair stiffened on the back of his neck and his flesh prickled. He felt eyes on him, watching him, maybe laughing at him.   
  
  
Spinning slowly, trying to see every dark corner, Harry gazed around the room once more. He shook his fears off, chalking it up to the creeps at being in a deserted building at night. He stood for a moment longer, scanning the room again.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Peter rushed into the lobby of the Oscorp lab building, praying he wouldn't trip and break his neck. The freezing rain outside had soaked him to the bone, and the cold building wasn't helping.   
  
  
Shaking the rain out of his wet hair, Peter slowed to a walk as he crossed the room. There were many doors he could go through, and he had no idea which one to choose. Nor did he have the time to enter each one and search it.   
  
  
Chewing on his lip, Peter squinted in the darkness, suddenly daunted at the task of finding two men in that huge building. Maybe they weren't even there. He could be in the wrong place entirely, and he could be too late as it was. He had no idea how long Harry had been gone. What were the chances he was going to find him? Peter didn't even know what the Goblin's plans were.   
  
  
Peter started to cross the lobby, picking the first door on his right. Always go right and you'll never go wrong, he thought with a grim smile.  
  
  
Always go right, you'll be going in circles.  
  
  
Peter's spider sense flashed once when he suddenly began to slide. With lightning reflexes, he regained his balance. Peter breathed a sigh of relief, almost laughing. That would have been just perfect, to crack his skull open on the floor and die.   
  
  
He peered at the floor, trying to see what had made him slip. Something glinted dully on the floor, and Peter knelt carefully, running a finger through it. Water. A wet footprint.   
  
  
It hadn't been raining long. It was the first time it had rained all day. That meant whoever had come through here must've come through within the last half hour, at most.   
  
  
Peter stood quickly and scanned the floor for more wet footprints. A trail of them led to a door in the back of the room. Peter followed them carefully through the door to a flight of stairs leading to the basement level. He swallowed, gazing down the dark steps.  
  
  
"Step into my parlor," said the spider to the fly.  
  
  
Who's the spider here, Parker? You or him?  
  
  
A feeling of foreboding grew, and he steeled himself for what was to come.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Harry glanced once more around the room and sighed in deep disappointment. No one there. A trick, maybe? Get the rich boy alone in a deserted building, make some easy cash. Harry began to feel nervous at the feeling of being watched. The sooner he was out, the better.   
  
  
Harry waited a moment, though, an irrational hope that someone might appear. He had been certain he recognized the voice…  
  
  
Harry shook his head firmly. He's dead. You saw the body. He's not here. Get the hell out of here before someone does show up.   
  
  
He swiftly crossed the room to the door, eyes warily on the shadows around him. Quickening his pace, his eyes darted over huge dark shapes and objects. Missing the figure lurking in the darkness. Missing the mad eyes that watched him through a mask.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Peter silently flowed through the hallways, following the trail of wet footprints. He was little more than a shadow flowing through the darkness, watching for any sign of the two men.  
  
  
Light met his eyes, and Peter's step quickened. Moving more cautiously now to the lit doorway , he pulled his gloves on, carefully sliding one over his bandaged hand. The medical tape around the fingers and the bandage made it a close fit, but fit it did.  
  
  
Sneaking to the lit doorway, he looked at the sign. Lab C35.   
  
  
Cautiously, very, very cautiously, he poked his head around the door, looking into the cavernous room.  
  
  
Harry was striding toward him, and Peter sighed in relief. At least he knew where one of them was. Now to find the more dangerous one.  
  
  
Peter hid in the shadows as Harry exited the room, holding his breath. As his best friend began to walk quickly down the hall, Peter sneaked up behind him and covered his mouth with his good hand, shushing him. He couldn't let him just wander off, not if the Goblin was planning to involve him in everything. Peter didn't want Harry to yell and give away their position, so he clamped a hand over his mouth and dragged him back.  
  
  
Harry jerked against his arms, making muffled yells. Clawing at the gloved hand covering his mouth, he swung his elbow backwards, trying to catch Peter in the stomach.  
  
  
Peter dodged the elbow, tightening his grip. "Hey!" he whispered. "Calm down! Stop! Wait a second! Stop!"  
  
  
Harry ignored these words and continued to pull and yank. He didn't know who his captor was yet, but he certainly didn't want to stick around long enough to find out.  
Peter realized too late that maybe he shouldn't have taken him from behind. Using Peter's trick, Harry snapped his teeth down on the hand, and Peter yelped and struggled to hold on. Luckily, his glove protected him from punctured skin. As they struggled, a faint sensation began to creep along the back of Spiderman's neck and his hair stood straight up.   
  
  
Be careful, the spider sense whispered without words. Quiet…get away from here…  
  
  
Spiderman began to feel spooked, and the urge to be quiet was growing stronger. He was getting a little annoyed at his friend. "Hey!" he hissed. Harry took advantage of the pause and twisted out from under Peter's hand, moving back towards the lab, into the light.  
  
  
Suddenly, Harry froze, peeking around the edge of the doorway. Spiderman peered over his shoulder and clamped his hand back over Harry's mouth, biting down on his own gasp of surprise. He forcefully pulled the no longer struggling Harry back down the hallway into the shadows behind another open door.  
  
  
As the Green Goblin silently emerged from Lab C35, Peter froze, urging Harry to do the same. Harry needed no encouragement. Peter had had no idea the Goblin was in the lab. He'd probably heard the struggling in the hallway. Harry's eyes were as wide as dinner plates as the Goblin halted just outside the door.   
  
  
The Goblin's gaze swept the dark hallway, peering into every shadow with laser-like intensity. Peter was certain he would see them behind the door. His spider sense was going insane. I know, I see him! he felt like screaming.   
  
  
Peter wanted to move around the door, into the room, but he knew if he moved, the Goblin would see them. He would see them in an instant, laugh as only he could laugh, and kill them both. He wasn't being the Goblin Peter remembered. He was more ruthless, to the point. He didn't play with Peter anymore before attacking, he went right for the kill.  
  
  
The Goblin slowly walked down the hallway toward Peter and Harry, gazing from side to side, into the darkness. Peter could feel Harry breathing hard against his hand, panting with fear. Harry still didn't trust him, but apparently he trusted Peter more than the Goblin.   
  
  
The Goblin drew closer, seeming to be able to sense them. The sureness with which he moved was terrible, as though it were only a matter of time until he found them. Peter stepped back ever so quietly into the deeper shadow, swallowing hard. Harry was trembling nervously.   
  
  
The Green Goblin stopped about two feet away from them, head turned in the other direction. Peter felt like screaming at him, half-believing that the Goblin was toying with them. Instead, he held his breath, pressed between the wall and the open door.  
  
  
After what seemed an eternity, the Goblin slowly turned and began to move in the other direction. Peter let his breath out slowly.  
  
  
The Goblin suddenly spun back around and started toward where the two were hiding, stopping short. Peter almost jerked in surprise. Frantic thoughts raced through his head. Does he see me?!  
  
  
The villain once more gazed over the hallway, apparently still oblivious to Peter and Harry's presence. He hesitatingly turned and went in the other direction, as though not completely satisfied with what he'd found, or rather, not found. Peter let his breath out slowly, spider sense fading. A trick, he thought with relief. A trick to scare us out of where we were hiding. A trick that almost worked.  
  
  
Harry went limp with relief as the shadowy figure disappeared into the darkness. Peter waited until he could no longer see the Goblin, and then a minute after that. Still not releasing his hold on Harry, he leaned forward and whispered in his ear,  
  
  
"I'm going to let you go. Please don't make any noise, or he'll come back. I can't promise that he wouldn't kill you to get to me, so stay quiet."  
  
  
He cautiously released his grip on Harry's face. Harry spun to face his captor. "Get away from me," he hissed in a mix of anger and fear.   
  
  
Spiderman raised his hands in a calming I'm-not-going-to-hurt-you sort of way. "Listen to me," he said in a calm, controlled voice. "We have to get out of here. I'm going to get you out of here, but I need you to trust me."  
  
  
Harry was staring at him, wide-eyed, lost in a memory. "You killed my father," he whispered.  
  
  
Spiderman winced, all the while staring down the hallway. The accusation stung. Harry was finally face to face with who he saw as his father's murderer, and his emotions were naked on his face. Peter clenched his fist. This wasn't the time to have a conversation about it, not now, not when Harry's father was about twenty five yards away with murderous intent. "I didn't….I didn't kill your father, I just brought him back to your mansion. Please believe me, I…" He swallowed. "I tried to save him, Harry, but I couldn't."  
  
  
"How do you know my name?"  
  
  
Footsteps were audible in the distance, the sound amplified in the huge empty building. Spiderman cocked his head, listening. "Sshh," he hushed Harry. "Come on, we have to go. He's coming back. Try not to talk."  
  
  
Peter began to lead Harry silently down the hallway in the other direction, Harry clearly reluctant to follow him. Apparently, though, he feared the Goblin more than Spiderman, so follow he did. "Do you know where we're going?" Harry barely whispered.   
  
  
Peter shook his head, then realized Harry couldn't see him and whispered, "No."  
  
  
"It's quicker the other way."  
  
  
"He went the other way, and he's coming back. I'd rather not run into him."   
  
  
Spiderman continued to pick his way through the darkness to a stairwell. His throat ached from speaking and his hand was beginning to throb again. A sinking feeling took his stomach as he tried to find his way through the maze of dark hallways. What had he been thinking, trying to come and take on the Goblin? He had a broken hand, could barely breath, and couldn't very well fight while worrying about Harry. He already knew the Goblin was stronger than he used to be. A byproduct of death, Peter thought with a grim smile. Coming was a stupid, stupid mistake, and he was beginning to feel spooked. He turned back and listened for a moment. No more footsteps, but that didn't mean he wasn't coming. "He probably knows the building much better than us, anyway," he muttered out loud.  
  
  
"Why do you say that?"  
  
  
Peter paused for a moment, realizing his mistake. "Just a feeling."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The Green Goblin strode confidently down the hallway. He'd pinpointed Spiderman's location in the building. He'd been pretty sure that the two were there in the hallway with him, but he hadn't been able to find them. Now he knew they had been, and must have gone in the other direction, to the back stairwell. Voices carried, and though Spiderman was trying to be silent, no doubt, his whispers had caught the Goblin's supersensitive ears.   
  
  
He slowed, moving more quietly as he neared the two. He was in no rush. They were unknowingly aiding him. He grinned with psychotic delight. The grin faded when he realized he had used the word "they".  
  
  
An unlucky coincidence that Harry was with the spider. He'd wanted Spiderman to follow Harry to Oscorp, but hadn't wanted Harry to get hurt. He felt strangely protective of the boy, no doubt a result of Osborn's feelings mixing with his own. Harry, after all, probably wanted Spiderman dead as much as he.  
  
  
The Goblin shrugged, listening to the whispers. He wouldn't intentionally harm Harry, but if the boy got in his way, that was too damn bad. Nothing, not even "his" son, would prevent him from killing off that frustrating, damned nuisance known as Spiderman.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Peter groped behind him as he ascended the stairs, feeling to see if Harry was still there. Harry tapped his arm to assure him that he was.  
  
  
As Spiderman squinted in the dark, Harry tapped his arm again, more insistently this time. Spiderman halted and turned. "What?" he barely whispered.   
  
  
In the darkness, he could see Harry put a hand to his ear, cupping it as though listening to far off music. Halfway up the stairs, Peter followed suit, straining his ears.  
Footsteps, slow, deliberate, were coming toward them, approaching the bottom of the stairs.   
  
  
Harry started to say something, but Spiderman shook his head and raised a finger to where his mouth would be on the mask. He clawed his hands in the air like a monster and pointed down the stairs. Harry nodded his comprehension and motioned for Spiderman to keep going.  
  
  
Moving more quickly now, but no less quietly, Spiderman continued up the stairs. He was somewhat proud of Harry for not giving them away, as he'd half expected him to do. Instead, Harry was handling the whole thing rather well. Peter, on other hand, who could fully grasp the seriousness of the situation, was a nervous wreck. Facing danger head-on was one thing, but trying to sneak away from it when it had super human abilities and senses was another. The shadows and creaks of the building were beginning to fray his nerves, and he jumped at almost every small sound.   
  
  
The footsteps coming to the stairs slowed. Peter guessed he was beginning his ascent. He wasn't worried about being caught on the stairs, though. He and Harry had enough of a head start so that they'd be out of the basement soon. It would be easy to find a way out of the building on the first floor.  
  
  
Peter turned to look once more behind him as they made it to the top of the stairs, listening for the footsteps. He cocked his head. They had gone quiet. Maybe he went back the other way, he reasoned, figuring that's where we went. Harry looked at him questioningly, raising his arms in a "What?" gesture.   
  
  
Spiderman turned back to find himself looking into a pair of large yellow eyes.  
  
  
A startled cry escaped him as the Goblin lunged. Peter turned, yelling "Go, go, go!" at Harry, who stood like a deer in the headlights.  
  
  
Peter suspected that Harry hadn't even seen the Goblin step around the corner to the head of the stairs. He gave Harry a rough push, snapping him out of his paralysis. Their lead wouldn't last for long, and it was a long set of stairs. Harry turned and sprinted down the stairs as Peter glanced once over his shoulder to see how much of a headstart they had this time.  
  
  
As Peter lurched down the stairs in a stumbling kind of run, shock raced through him. How had the Goblin gotten to the top of the stairs before they had? Cold realization washed over him, canceling out the shock. Peter had been mistaken. The footsteps hadn't been coming to the bottom of the stairs, they'd been coming to the top. He realized the Goblin had known exactly where they were and had come to meet them there, rather than chase after them. As Peter had said, the Goblin knew the building better than them.   
  
  
Now there was no doubt which way the footsteps were heading. They were thundering down the stairs right behind Peter.  
  
  
Harry turned the wrong way, to the left, when he got to the bottom of the stairs, a long way ahead of Spiderman. It took Peter a moment to realize this, as a green hand clamped down on his shoulder and yanked, pulling him backwards. "Go right!" he yelled hoarsely as he landed on his back on the stairs, air rushing from his lungs in a whoosh. A fit of coughing took him as he crashed to his back. The Goblin jolted to a halt, momentum carrying him too far. He half tripped, half high-stepped over Peter, who kicked him in the back of the knee, collapsing his leg. The two of them rolled down the rest of the stairs, a jumble of elbows and knees. Each impact was a painful jolt to Peter's hand, and the cough was still racking his body. He curled over his broken hand, protecting it, and succeeded in getting an accidental green boot to the jaw as they rolled. The Goblin, who was bigger than Spiderman, was having a tough time in the narrow staircase. There was a loud thud as he banged his head into the wall, and another when he hit it into the floor at the end of the trip. They landed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, entangled and dizzy.  
  
  
Spiderman lay for a moment, coughing hard. Dizziness washed over him, partly from the trip down the stairs, but also from the hacking and coughing. Wheezing, he pulled his limbs out of the tangle and rolled to his feet, taking off after Harry, who had stopped to gawk at the hero and the villain. The latter found his feet, holding his hands to his head, shaking it slowly. Spiderman wanted every advantage they could get, and he swung a fist at the dizzy villain, catching him in the jaw. The Goblin hit into the wall with the force of the punch and bounced off as Spiderman sprinted to catch up with Harry.  
  
  
"Go! Go!" he yelled between coughs.  
  
  
A low chuckle sounded behind them, and with it, a low voice. "Thought you said to go right, Spiderman."  
  
  
Spiderman hated to admit it, but he was right. They were in a dead end, with one door out. Spiderman slammed his shoulder into the double doors, struggling with all his might to push them in. Harry was breathing hard, watching the approaching maniac. "Oh my God, hurry up, hurry up!"  
  
  
"Wait a second," Peter said suddenly, staring at the doors. His gaze snapped to the wall beside the door. A panel. Buttons on the panel, numbered buttons.  
  
  
An elevator. In the darkness, he hadn't seen the panel, hadn't know it was an elevator. The buttons were dark. There was no electricity in the building, so how was he to work it? "Keep him busy!" he said distractedly to Harry.   
  
  
"How am I supposed to do that?!"  
  
  
Ignoring the shrieked question, Spiderman fought with the doors. Pulling, gritting his teeth, sucking in breath, Peter used every last ounce of strength to squeeze the door open a little. "Come on, come on," he begged through his tightly clenched teeth. A long cry of pain escaped him as he pushed the doors open a foot, his hand nearly exploding with pain.  
  
  
Behind him, he could hear Harry grunt, and he feared to think what would happen if Harry attacked the Goblin.   
  
  
Peter set his shoulder against the door and used every bit of leverage he could to force the doors open another foot. His second cry dissolved into a fit of coughing.  
  
  
That's enough, he figured, looking at the space between the doors and coughing into his arm. "Harry! Come on!"  
  
  
He watched as Harry threw another weak punch at the Goblin, who blocked it and gently tried to push past Harry. Peter noticed that no matter what Harry did, the Goblin never counterattacked, only blocked and dodged. Spiderman frowned. It seemed as though he was almost…avoiding hurting Harry.   
  
  
A weakness! Think about it later, Parker.  
  
  
The Goblin did try to get past Harry, however, but was having a hard time in the narrow hallway. Harry was the same height as him, and was doing a better job of blocking the hallway than Peter had expected. Peter yelled again, or tried to with his raspy voice.   
  
  
"Let's go!"   
  
  
Harry turned to run to the doors, but the Goblin caught his shoulder and pulled him back, hooking an arm around Harry's neck in a light choke hold. Harry cried out in fear.  
  
  
"Get away from the doors," he said in a menacing growl.  
  
  
Instead, Peter raised his hand and used a good old trick: he shot a bit of webbing directly over the Goblin's eyes, snapping his head back with such force that the Goblin staggered back a step, yanking at the webbing.  
  
  
Harry stumbled to the elevator, and Peter wrapped his bad arm around Harry's waist. "Hold on tight," he warned Harry, who likewise hooked an arm around Spiderman's waist.  
  
  
Spiderman glanced up the elevator shaft and back down. There was another level below them, and as he'd hoped, the elevator was stopped on that last level, five or six feet below them.  
  
  
Spiderman jumped down to land on top of the elevator, staring up the shaft. He repeated his warning to Harry.  
  
  
Spiderman bent his legs, took a deep breath, and leapt straight up.  
  
  
As they rocketed toward the ceiling, Peter heard Harry whoop with joy, shortlived though it was. Spiderman realized that they were traveling too far, and shot a web, pulling them all the way to the top floor. Clinging to the ledge, he told Harry to hold on. Luckily, elevator doors were easier to open from the inside.  
  
  
As they stumbled from the shaft, Harry shook his head, a dopey smile on his face. "We made it!" he exclaimed.   
  
  
Peter was not so convinced. They had to get off the top floor, away from the building, away from the Goblin. He let his head tilt back and hit the wall he was leaning against. The adrenaline was draining from him in an exhausting rush, but this night wasn't over yet. No doubt the Goblin was coming.  
  
  
Pushing away from the wall, he began to walk tiredly down the hallway. "Come on," he said to Harry. He coughed once, throat flaming for an instant. "We have to get out of here."  
  
  
Harry's grin dropped from his face. "You think he's still coming?"  
  
  
"Well…he's not dead yet, is he?"  
  
  
"No…" Harry frowned. "Who is he? What does he want? Why…"  
  
  
Peter glanced to him. "Why what?"  
  
  
Harry's frown grew. "I got a call. A call from someone who asked me to come here, to the basement lab."  
  
  
Peter pieced the story together. Smooth, Parker, he berated himself. You walked right into his trap.  
  
  
Wait a minute. A call. Peter cleared his throat, trying to sound as casual as possible. "And did you…recognize the caller's voice?"  
  
  
Harry looked down. "I thought I did," he whispered. A sudden look passed over Harry's face, one of anger and suspicion. "So wait, you didn't answer my question, how do you know my name?"  
  
  
Spiderman continued walking, avoiding the question. "I think there's an exit down here."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Harry grabbed his shoulder and turned him, pinning him against the wall. In truth, Peter could have picked him up, dribbled him the length of a basketball court and stuff him in the net, all with one hand tied behind his back, but he let his friend pin him.  
  
  
"How did you know my name?" The question was a growl, now.  
  
  
Peter looked away, wishing he was a better liar. "I uh….I've seen you around. I mean, your father…he's famous…I just know who you are, that's all."  
  
  
"Uh-huh." Harry wasn't buying.  
  
  
"I know you by your father. He's famous, I know his name. So I'd know you."  
  
  
"Was famous."  
  
  
Peter winced at the tone, and conceded in a quiet voice. "Was famous."  
  
  
"How old are you?"  
  
  
Peter was surprised by the sudden question. "Uh…not too young, not too old," he offered vaguely.   
  
  
Harry let it go. "And you had nothing to do with my father's death?"  
  
  
"Harry, would it make you feel better if I said I did?"  
  
  
Harry bitterly shook his head. "No. Not really."  
  
  
"Then it doesn't really matter."  
  
  
Harry smiled faintly. "That sounds like something my best friend would say." Peter swallowed hard when Harry's gaze darkened again. "You didn't say no. Did you have something to do with his death?"  
  
  
Spiderman suddenly perked up, listening. "We should go. Come on, question me later."  
  
  
Harry started to protest, then shook his head and followed. They made their way through the dark top floor towards the door to the nearest stairs. Spiderman pushed against it and then pulled. Mustering his remaining strength, he rammed his shoulder against the door. Desperation threatened to take him as he peered through the door window at the two heavy padlocks on the other side. Another door waited beyond that one, also padlocked and chained as well. After slamming into the door a few more times, he gave up. It would take too long, give the Goblin too much time.  
  
  
Harry watched for a moment, then inspected the door. "Is it locked?"  
  
  
Had Peter not been wearing a mask, Harry would have seen him roll his eyes.  
  
  
"Yeah, from the other side."  
  
  
"Why don't you use your super strength or whatever?"  
  
  
Peter resisted a sarcastic retort and instead laughed a little, which once more brought on his cough. "I'm injured. It makes me weak…we fought a few days ago, and I got hurt. He, uh…." Peter cleared his throat, terrible images from the day running through his head. "He won."  
  
  
"What's injured?"  
  
  
Peter started to answer truthfully, then realized what a bad thing that could be to say. "I'm just sore, is all. Bruises and cuts."  
  
  
Harry tilted his head. "Why the bad cough?"  
  
  
Peter swallowed, aware that he was treading dangerous ground. "Uh…he almost strangled me…when we fought, I mean."  
  
  
Harry nodded, then looked around. "Gotta be another way out, right?"  
  
  
Spiderman looked around, not quite finished with this door. He wasn't sure he trusted the stairways anymore, but he reasoned that the Goblin couldn't run from the basement to the top floor so quickly.  
  
  
Unless he flew up an elevator shaft. Peter didn't know where the glider was. He had rarely seen the Goblin without it. No doubt it was somewhere nearby.   
  
  
Spiderman thought for a moment. How would someone get out other than the elevator and these stairs? What if there was a fire, where would the people go?  
A fire. A fire escape.  
  
  
Peter spun to peer through the window in the door of an office. Red words stood out to him on the large window in the back of the room. "Come on," he said to Harry, running to the office door. Those doors shouldn't be locked, not if the stairwell was.  
  
  
Spiderman gave a silent cheer when the door swung open without protest. He opened the window in the back, gazing out at the bright lights of the city, breathing in the cold air washed clean by the now stopped rain. The cool night breeze felt good through his mask. He took a few deep, purging breaths, calming himself, reclaiming strength.  
  
  
He gazed up at the edge of the roof, three feet above his head. He would have to climb to the top, never mind the broken hand and help Harry up. It was the only way out of the building. Peter would have webbed Harry to safety, but that wasn't possible with a broken hand. It looked like he would have to get him home by rooftop.  
Peter gingerly climbed the wall, putting all his weight on his good hand. He reached down and clasped forearms with Harry. Instincts began buzzing as he tugged Harry up onto the roof. They both paused for a moment, dread filling their hearts as the familiar sound of an engine met their ears.  
  
  
The glider, carrying its gruesome master, rose into sight right in front of him. Spiderman turned without a second thought, grabbed Harry's arm and ran.  
  
  
"Why don't you use those web things?" Harry yelled as they ran.  
  
  
Peter didn't look at him. "I can't use my right hand!"  
  
  
"Why not?!"  
  
"He broke it a few days ago!"  
  
  
Harry and Peter were two cats trying to outrun a cheetah. As the pursuit began, and cold fear took Peter's stomach, he wondered how MJ was.  
  
  
  
  
You'll pay now…trust me, MJ…you think a woman like that's sniffing around…Spiderman! Save me…Peter, I was so sure you were dead…empty threat, Spiderman…  
  
Mary Jane Watson's eyes slid open, heavy lids begging to close again. She gazed slowly around the hospital room, exhausted. Her mother was asleep in the chair beside the bed.  
  
  
Fighting back unconsciousness, MJ thought hazily. She had swum up through the murky depths of the coma, prompted by a dim realization and a memory. For a second, she couldn't remember her own name, let alone how this had happened. Random thoughts were dancing through her head, voices and words of people that had been in her foggy dreams. Peter's face suddenly flashed in among them.  
  
  
Explosion. Apartment. Is Peter okay?!   
  
  
Yes. She knew he was, that he had carried her out of…out of what?  
  
  
How had it happened? Think, MJ! Think! What happened!?  
  
  
But her body felt so heavy and achy…the pillow felt so comfortable…  
  
  
No! Think! How did it happen?  
  
  
Green. Green with yellow eyes.   
  
  
It suddenly hit her. His name escaped her at the moment, but she was pretty sure of who had blown up her apartment. She hadn't actually seen him, but she dimly remembered the voice.   
  
  
And the laugh. The demon's cackle.  
  
  
She didn't know why he had it in for her, but it scared her cold. As far as she could tell, she hadn't done anything to him. Then again, who knew? Maybe just her existence was enough to piss him off. Either way, since that day at the Festival…it seemed so long ago!…he had hated her.  
  
  
Hello, my dear.  
  
  
The voice…what had it said? She knew that voice, not just from behind the mask, but somewhere else, too…  
  
  
Words played through her head, meshing together, but she was having trouble separating the ones from her nightmares from the ones she'd heard spoken.   
Give my regards…let die the woman you love…a word to the not so wise…  
  
What? That wasn't him!  
  
  
The random thoughts in her mind were making it hard to think. She was mixing everything up…or was she? Had he said that at some point? A word to the not so wise about… About what? Someone had said it, someone had shouted it derisively…  
  
  
Two things were being concluded in her fuzzy mind. He was connected to the other thing. There was a word, one she'd heard from him many times, one he'd said at the explosion in the apartment…one she'd heard somewhere else, when he had attacked her in her apartment that night and drugged her…she had vague memories of being drugged…what was the word? It was so hard to think when she felt like she had cotton in her head…  
  
  
  
  
Spiderman.  
  
  
She gasped as the realization hit her.   
  
  
Empty threat, Spiderman  
  
  
Can Spiderman come out to play?  
  
  
Both spoken to Peter.  
  
  
Trust me, MJ. He said it to her that night on the bridge. The day the theater exploded.  
  
  
The kiss in the rain. The kiss in the cemetery.  
  
  
In her shock, unconsciousness took her once more. 


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: This is NOT the final chapter. There's another one after this, don't worry. Enjoy the climax of my story, I hope it suits the rest of it. Go on! Read it!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
      Spiderman sprinted along the roof, the glider's engine roaring in his ears.  "Grab my hand!" he shouted as he picked up speed coming to the edge of the roof.    
  
      "What are you doing?! We can't make that jump!" Harry shrieked.  
  
      "Hold on!" Spiderman shouted.  Harry's grip tightened as they made the leap to the next building, Harry's weight featherlight compared to Spiderman's strength.  
  
      And suddenly the glider was right there in front of him, the Goblin holding one of those special bombs.  Harry yelled in surprise as Spiderman yanked him into a swerve around the Goblin. The Goblin appeared again in front of them, at the edge of the building, giving them nowhere to jump from.  Spiderman halted in surprise and instinct, waiting for the green flash, the sudden death. Simple sadness suddenly took him.  He'd survived so much, and now he'd be killed in an instant with his best friend.  He suddenly regretted never having told MJ his true identity.  
  
      But the Goblin hovered for a moment, hesitating, like he did that day at the hospital.  He stared at them, fingers flexing around the bomb, obviously aching to throw it.    
  
      Spiderman was shocked when the Goblin disappeared, circling behind him again, roaring in frustration.  It suddenly struck Peter, that the Goblin wouldn't harm him if Harry was at risk. No bombs.  A small advantage, but still one in Peter's favor.  
  
      Spiderman made the next leap, gripping Harry's hand tighter.  If he was right, and the Goblin wouldn't attack while Harry was near, then Peter had a good chance of getting Harry home by rooftop. He didn't want Harry to be there if the Goblin should suddenly change his mind and decide that his death wasn't such a big deal.  
  
      As they came to the next leap, Harry stumbled a little, trying to keep up.  He tripped over the edge of the wall, and Peter's heart leapt into his throat.  As he jumped, he realized Harry was losing his grip on his hand.  He was running on the wrong side, holding Peter's injured hand.  The one with thickly bandaged fingers under the glove.  
  
_      No grip there, Parker!  
_  
      Harry's sweaty hand was slipping out of Peter's gloved one.  He lost the hand completely while in the air.  
  
      "No!"  
  
Spinning to look over the wall when he landed, he searched desperately for Harry.  Harry was plummeting to the ground, screaming the whole way.    
  
It suddenly came to Spiderman in a flash, who the person in the tram was in his dream.    
  
  
  
  
_You killed my father. Now you'll let me die, too?_  
_"Harry! No!"  
_  
He dove off the building and began to follow Harry's descent.  Harry was falling quickly, but Spiderman was streamlined and catching up.  He suddenly felt a wave of heat and heard the roar of an engine just above him.  _Not now, go away, come on_, he thought in frustration, glancing upward as best he could.    
  
The Goblin was also plummeting toward the ground, but he was passing Spiderman, ignoring him, it seemed.  He continued to rocket toward Harry.  
  
_If he gets to Harry before I do, protection is gone, maybe for both of us.  
_  
Spiderman mentally cursed with the realization and tightened his position, willing himself to fall faster, but compared to the Goblin's engine, he would not make it.    
  
Harry's voice was raised in a long, drawn-out scream as the ground raced up at him.  His father was catching up.  Peter forgot momentarily about the race to save Harry.  The ground was so close…never mind about protection, he just wanted Harry to end up as something else than a spot on the pavement.  Peter prayed that the Goblin would make it in time.  He almost laughed at the sheer irony of cheering the Goblin on.  
  
The Goblin shot past Harry and came up from beneath him, snatching him right out of the air. He gracefully angled the glider down to the ground, Harry securely in his grip. Harry's fear of death turned to fear of the Goblin when he felt the strong arms encircle him, and he stiffened, paralyzed.  Roughly sitting Harry down at his feet, the Goblin held him by the shoulders while steering the glider.  
  
With a sinking feeling, Peter realized that now that the Goblin was sure Harry wouldn't be harmed, he would have no qualms about blowing up Peter.  Spiderman webbed his way to the ground one handed as the Goblin swooped down in front of him.  
  
The Green Goblin cackled as he armed the bomb, his opponent beat at long last.   
   
Harry reached up, latching onto the Goblin's arm.  "No!" he screamed. "Please!"  
  
The Goblin yanked his arm away, but that slight pause was all that Spiderman needed.  He was around the corner, out of the alley, and on the deserted back street in the blink of an eye.  
  
The Goblin quickly followed.  Harry used the arm to pull himself to his knees.  The Goblin tried to pull his arm away without hurting Harry, but Harry held tight, wrestling for possession of the bomb.  
  
The Goblin roughly tore his arm from Harry's grasp.  He flicked his wrist, tossing the bomb out into the air, towards Spiderman, but it was too late.  It would explode before it even hit the ground.  The Goblin rocketed away, distancing himself from the weapon.  Harry stared as the bomb spun into space, then began to emit a green light. "Don't look at it!" the Goblin snarled at Harry, blocking his view and shielding his eyes.  Spiderman followed the advice as well.  
  
The bomb went up in a blinding green flash, illuminating the night around them for an instant.   
  
Spiderman's eyes darted over the dark street. It was little more than a large alley behind the huge Oscorp building and various other abandoned places.  He swallowed, trying to wet his dry throat.  It felt like it had been rubbed with sandpaper and set on fire.  Another coughing fit threatened to overtake him as he spun quickly, searching for the glider.    
  
_Where'd they go?  
_  
The glider was returning, circling back, and the Goblin held a new bomb.  A regular explosive, this time.  Peter's brow furrowed.  Why a regular bomb? Maybe because Peter could simply outrun the others?  
  
Harry reached for the Goblin's arm again, but this time the Goblin caught the hand and easily subdued him.  He made that almost casual, careless flick of his wrist again, and the bomb spun towards Spiderman.    
  
Spiderman dodged it easily, but he didn't have to.  The bomb didn't land anywhere near him.  _Bad shot_? he wondered.  
  
Harry stared in wonder and relief.  "You missed! You didn't hit him!" he yelled without thinking.    
  
"No need," the Goblin hissed.  
  
And it was true. There was no need to get the bomb close to Spiderman.  Sure, the explosion missed him, but the smoke was beginning to pour out, filling the air around them.  Spiderman's throat constricted, and he began to cough, dry, wheezing coughs that took him to one knee.  
  
"Spiderman! Look out!"  
  
Peter wanted to scream that he knew, he knew the Goblin was about ten feet away from him with a new toy.  Instead, he hacked and coughed some more, choking on the smoke.  
  
Harry, in his excitement, had raised to his knees on the glider.  The Goblin, in his distraction, hadn't noticed.  As he took the glider into another turn, Harry wobbled and began to pitch forward.  He yelled in fright.  
  
The Goblin snatched the back of his shirt and held him on as he lowered the glider, stopping a foot above the ground.  "Get off," he growled.  
  
Harry needed no more encouragement.  He began to climb down.  
  
A blur of blue and red suddenly smacked into the Goblin, knocking him clean off the glider and sending him flying into a building.  Spiderman had swallowed his coughs long enough to send a flying kick at the villain.  He rolled to his knees, sputtering in the smoke.  
  
The glider went haywire, flying away and returning, searching for its master.  Said master was leaning against the building, shaking his head to clear it.  The glider, which had returned to him and was waiting like some monstrous dog, flew away when the Goblin pressed a button on his arm.  He climbed to his feet and watched his foe.  
  
The two slowly approached one another, eyes locked.  They circled like two cats with their backs arched, balanced on the balls of their feet.  Spiderman let the rage build as he circled warily.  
  
He had sworn a covenant while his love lay comatose in his arms that he would kill this psychopath, and he intended to keep the promise.  
  
This was the reason MJ was in a coma.  And that was all that mattered.  
  
Just when Spiderman had decided to attack, the Goblin calmly raised a hand.  "Before you hit me," he said conversationally.  "I should ask." Had his mask not been permanently fixed in a demented grin, his face would have split into one.  "How's your sweetheart?"  
  
Spiderman's fist exploded through the air where the Goblin's head had been a moment ago.  The Goblin spun away from him with amazing speed and Spiderman whirled to face him, matching him in speed.  The final battle began.  
  
Punches, thrown at blinding speed shot back and forth.  None connected.  Blocks were constantly made, while at the same time punching.  The Goblin let Spiderman force him back, calmly blocking and dodging.  Spiderman spun into a high kick, but the Goblin ducked under it, at the same time bringing his fist up in an uppercut.     
  
Spiderman jerked out of the way and swung at him, throwing his whole body forward into it.  The Goblin ducked easily and kicked him from behind, using Spiderman's own momentum to send him forward into a stumbling run.  "Is she dead yet?"  
  
Spiderman snarled and swung again, wild with rage.  The Goblin caught the fist and backhanded Spiderman.  "Or in a coma," he continued casually, as though they were talking over coffee.  "A living death."      
  
Spiderman gave an inarticulate scream and attacked wildly, not landing any punches. The Goblin smoothly blocked each one, sometimes pushing Spiderman roughly or smacking him, little blows to humiliate and madden him.  Spiderman was wild with fury.  
"Did you know, little scientist, that comatose people can usually hear everything said around them? That they are alive in every aspect? With feelings and thoughts? Tell me, child.  What do you think your love feels for you?"  
  
His voice dropped to a low hiss.  "A hatred as strong as my own?"  
  
Spiderman's next punch flew with brutal accuracy, a bone jarring uppercut to the jaw.  The impact lifted the Goblin a foot into the air and sent him flying to land on his back.    
Spiderman pressed his attack, boosted by the blow he'd made.  He strode confidently forward.  "You talk too much, Gobby," he called in his raspy voice.  "It makes you slow."    
  
  
  
  
  
Overconfidence is a tricky thing.  One is never sure if he's being overconfident or just optimistic.  In Peter's case, it was over confidence.  He had not weighed a broken hand into the equation of pressing his attack immediately.  
  
The Goblin caught Spiderman's punch, and held the fist, rather than just blocking it. Before Spiderman could pull free or kick, the Goblin's fist had connected with his eye.  Spiderman stumbled back, feeling the eye swelling immediately.  He swayed on his feet, struggling not to pass out.  _That's gonna leave a mark_, he thought stupidly for a moment.  
  
The Goblin pressed his own attack, closing in on Spiderman, who backed hastily away in a series of acrobatic moves.  Sometimes just appearing confident was discouraging to the enemy.   The effort put into making those flips and leaps made the Olympic gymnasts look like they were lying on a beach.  
  
The Goblin responded by throwing a bomb.  The night was suddenly illuminated as fire exploded around them in a fury, leaping to consume the garbage filled dumpsters and trash filling the alley. Spiderman's spider sense immediately rose to a roar as the flames grew around him, canceling out all other warnings.  Spiderman instinctively began to back out of the fire when a green hand caught his arm and jerked him back into the smoke and flame.  Another punch connected with the side of his head, and he threw one of his own in return, into the Goblin's stomach, doubling him over.  He turned to escape the flame once more, but the Goblin caught his arm again, yanking him back.  The Goblin made no attempts to escape.    
  
It occurred to Peter that that night the Goblin had died, maybe he hadn't cared if the glider kept going and killed him as well.  Even if it had caught Spiderman, the Goblin would've been killed, too.  Peter shivered suddenly, despite the flames and heat surrounding him.  The Green Goblin would stop at nothing to kill him, even if it meant his own death.  And that was an advantage over Spiderman, who wanted very much to remain alive.  
  
Spiderman looked into the other's yellow eyes for a moment, debating whether to continue fighting or to grab Harry, get out of there and live to fight another day.  
_No. This is it. It's now or never. He's only getting stronger. You have to finish this now._  
The Goblin waited patiently, almost as though he, too were waiting to see what Spiderman would decide.  He tilted his head and spread his arms as if to say, _Well?_  
Spiderman clenched his good fist.  He would fight to the last breath.  But not this way. This was the Goblin's way, and Peter wouldn't be able to hold out long with a broken hand, the way he was fighting. He was letting the Goblin antagonize him and bait him, which led to sloppy fighting.  
  
_Get control of yourself. Don't listen to him. He's died once already, you can win again._  
All this couldn't have taken more than two seconds, but to the two men standing among the flame and fury, it seemed eternity.  And suddenly…the moment broke.  
  
"One of us will die tonight," the Goblin said softly.  "I promise you that."  
  
Peter attacked, but in a calm and careful manner this time.  With fluid movements, strength and speed, he and the Goblin began the dance with death.  
  
The Goblin's manner had changed too.  There was no playful note to it anymore.  He was as intent on Spiderman's death as Spiderman was on his.  
  
A childish fear grew in Spiderman as the fight began.  Could he win this?  Just looking at the Goblin was frightening.  With the fire and smoke reflected in his eyes and suit, it was like fighting a demon. In a way, he supposed, he was.  This was a creature from the dead.  
  
_A creature straight out of Hell.  
_  
He abruptly shut his fear off.  This was no demon.  He couldn't allow himself to become frightened like this.  This was Norman Osborn behind the mask.  It was a human being.  He had to think of it in those terms.    
  
_Nice to meet you, Peter. Harry's told me so much about you.  
_  
The Goblin threw two punches, both blocked.  He immediately brought his foot up in a high kick to Spiderman's chest, sending him staggering back.  
  
_It's a great honor to meet you, sir.  
_  
Spiderman was on his feet in an instant.  He flowed through one of the Goblin's blocks and sent him flying back into the wall. There was a loud thud as he hit the wall, and he lay for a moment on the ground, gasping after having the wind knocked out of him.    
_I've read all your research. Really brilliant stuff.  
_  
Spiderman swiftly moved to him and joined him on the ground when the Goblin leg-swept him.  The Goblin rolled to his feet, still coughing, and brought his foot down in an awkward stomp where Spiderman's head had been a split second before.  Spiderman felt the air of the foot rushing by his face, but couldn't escape the other foot that swung into his side.  The air rushed from his lungs, and Spiderman let out a pitiful cough.  
_Your parents must be very proud.  
_  
The Goblin started to kick once more when Spiderman rocked and twisted, using his momentum to send both feet into the Goblin's bent knees. A cry of pain escaped the Goblin as his knees snapped back and locked. He staggered , unable to keep his balance.  Spiderman leapt to his feet.  
  
Spiderman spun into a kick.  The Goblin barely ducked it, knees stiff and painful.  He threw a punch at blinding speed.  The blow landed in Peter's gut, knocking the wind out of him.  He carefully controlled his breathing, suck in little bits of air, inflating his lungs slowly.  _Take it slow_, an inner voice whispered.  _If you try to suck in too much air, the pain will grow.  
_  
Trouble was, the Goblin was continuing to throw punches, and it was hard to block punches without air.  Spiderman, pressed for time, tried something rather strange.  He coiled his legs and leapt over the Goblin's head, coming down in a ready stance on the other side.  Now it was Spiderman on the offensive, carefully avoiding using his broken hand.   
  
_Be careful_, his inner voice cautioned. _ He fights dirty, don't give him your injury.  
_The Goblin caught his good fist again, and Spiderman immediately thrust the elbow of his bad hand forward, hitting the Goblin in the chin and sending him back a few paces.  He pressed the attack, landing a roundhouse on the Goblin's chin and then an uppercut to the jaw.  
  
Spiderman snap kicked the Goblin's stomach, which the latter not only blocked, but caught the foot in both hands and twisted, sending Spiderman to the ground, knocking the air out of him once more.  Suddenly, Spiderman's cough took him.  He began to gag and wheeze.  The Goblin moved one final time to kill Spiderman, crush his skull forever. He began to laugh.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Norman Osborn was in the dreamy half awake state he entered whenever the Goblin took over.  He had a vague understanding what was happening, but didn't really grasp reality.  It was as though he were watching from afar.  
  
Now, as he looked out through Goblin eyes, he remembered the past night.  He remembered all that had happened.  He remembered forcing the Goblin to save his son, screaming for him to save his son.  The Goblin had concurred, partly for his own reasons, partly from Norman's force.  Using all that will power had weakened Norman and the Goblin had pushed him back with ease.  
  
Now Norman focused once more, his weary mind crying out for rest.    
  
Spiderman…attacking him…  
  
_No, Peter Parker.  The boy I loved like a son.   
  
And he took you from your own son, Osborn!   
_  
Norman felt his automatic acceptance of the Goblin's words, not really wanting to argue, or wanting to see what was happening.  
  
_You see how he attacks you? He knows it's you, and he tries to kill you.  You would have us leave him be?  
_  
_Yes_…Norman though blearily.  _You're right…  
_  
He watched impassively as Spiderman lay on the ground before him, gasping out his last breaths. Goblin laughter cavorted through his mind.  "So ends the life of another bug," the Goblin shouted with glee as he swung his foot into his adversary's side.  "And how appropriate that he will be squashed under my foot, like any other insect."  
  
Thoughts pushed through, despite the Goblin's angry arguments. _ He attacks the Goblin, not me.  He didn't want to kill me when he knew me as Norman Osborn.  I don't want to kill him, either.  
_  
Norman began to feel anger.  _I don't want to kill him.  I will not kill him._   
   
The Goblin was a part of him, a part of his own mind. He had always prided himself on self control, and by God, he would control himself now.  
  
_No!!!_  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Spiderman stared up at the Goblin, sucking in air, coughing, gasping more air.  He had made it so far…survived so much…now to be killed in an instant, crushed like a…well, a bug…under the Goblin's foot because he had a measly cough.  Spiderman hoped that Harry and MJ would be okay.  Then he hoped that the whole city would be okay.  
Spiderman shut his eyes, waiting for the blow, but none came. He hesitantly opened one eye.  The other immediately followed, out of curiosity.  
  
The Goblin had stepped away, holding his hands to his head. He shook his head hard, and started to move forward, then back.  
  
_What is he doing??!!  
_  
Spiderman immediately got to his feet, still coughing, and cautiously waited, watching the Goblin.  He had turned away from Spiderman, and was swaying back and forth slightly, still clutching his head.  
  
Spiderman stood, unable to think what to do.  Attack seemed like a good idea, but something held him back.  
  
The Goblin suddenly spun to Spiderman, hands still pressed to his temples.  "Hit me," he whispered haltingly.  "Now! Attack now!"  
  
Spiderman needed no further encouragement.  He swung a fist at the Goblin, who did absolutely nothing to stop it.  The Goblin was lifted off his feet and flew into the building.  Spiderman hesitated before pressing the attack.  
  
The Goblin began to get up, then stopped.  Both hands flew to his head, and a scream tore out of him, a scream of unbearable pain.  The unearthly sound echoed into the night, and Spiderman stood for a moment, stunned, not comprehending what was going on.  The Goblin looked once more at Spiderman.  "What are you….w-w-what are you waiting for!?" he screamed.  "Attack!"  
  
_Different voice_, Peter though in wonder.  _What's going on?  
_  
He attacked once more, but this time, the Goblin blocked and swung, movements slow and jerky.  Spiderman blocked the punch and began to move forward again.  
_  
  
  
  
  
  
OSBORN, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE  DOING?!?!  
_  
Norman didn't answer.  He couldn't, just then.  He was using all his strength to remain motionless, to let Spiderman beat him.  The Goblin's rage was almost too much to fight against mentally, and the pain was tearing him apart.  
  
_This is my body.  My mind.  He is a part of my mind.  I will control him.  
  
You don't know what you're doing! You'll ruin everything!  
_  
_I am Norman Osborn. Not the Green Goblin.  I will not take another life. I am –  
  
Goddammit, Osborn, what are you trying to do?   
  
-- Norman Osborn.  I am Norman –  
  
I tried to help you! You would resist my help and die?  
  
-- Osborn.   
  
You stupid, weak, pathetic human being.  I offer so much. You would rather die than take what's ours. Your weakness disgusts me, Osborn.  
_  
Not so weak, though.  It appears I'm strong enough to fight you, Goblin.  _You taught me something.  Not to let feelings get in the way, remember? I'm not afraid to die. In fact, I'm ready for it.  
  
Then die. I will take control.  
_  
He could hear the words being exchanged in his mind coming out of his mouth in a jumble of words and voices that didn't match. Norman could feel his alter personality taking control as it had done so many times before, pushing him away.  Norman began to weaken.  He began to lose touch with his body again, and he could sense it moving, fighting once more.  Suddenly, his gaze slid over Harry, who stood down the street, gaping at the action unfolding in front of him.  
  
_He has his whole life ahead of him.  What do I have? I've died once. I have nothing left for me in this world. What will happen to Harry if the Goblin wins this?  
_  
Norman at once renewed the fight.    
  
_I am Norman Osborn.  I am Norman Osborn.    
_  
He began to push away his multiple personality.  Pain, horrible, hot, ripping pain rushed through his head.  Another scream tore from his lungs.  
  
_Stop fighting me, Osborn, and the pain will stop.  
_  
The Goblin's offer was extremely tempting.  Norman mentally gritted his teeth against the growing pain, still fighting.  _Give me control, Osborn. Let me take care of this. The pain will stop, I promise.  
_  
Norman almost gave in.  He was about a half second away from giving up when he realized that this was what he always let happen. He always let the Goblin make him believe he was weak.  _He's in pain, too_, Norman realized. He could hear it in the Goblin's voice.  _This hurts him as it does me. I am stronger. I will win.  
_  
He struggled to still his limbs.  The Goblin persona was sliding away, still fighting.  All at once, shocks of pain were running through him as his mind reconnected with his body, but these were minor compared to the pain of the internal battle, the battle for his sanity.    
  
_Norman Osborn.  I am Norman Osborn.  
  
You will never be just Norman Osborn again!  
  
Then I will never be anything again.   
_  
Norman waited until Spiderman had beaten him into weakness before executing the final part of his plan.  
  
  
  
  
  
Spiderman kicked the Goblin again, who had begun to sway on his feet.  The Goblin reeled and fell into the wall, seemingly no strength left.  His knees unhinged and he sank to the ground against the wall, still clutching his head with both hands.  Spiderman felt guilty for some reason.  He felt guilty fighting the Goblin, who appeared to be having mental issues on top of all his other ones.  Sometimes the villain would move as though to fight back, then stop.  He would try to punch, or block, but his movements were slow and awkward.    
  
And the words.  The strange growling, snarling words coming from him, sometimes in the derisive, raspy voice of the Green Goblin, sometimes in the voice of prominent business man, Norman Osborn.  
  
Spiderman again began to attack when the Goblin raised his hands, imploring him to stop.  Spiderman complied, but remained in a ready stance.  His spider sense, which had been intense for the fight, slowed to a quiet buzz, barely there.  
  
The Goblin slowly rose to his feet and turned, arming a bomb.  The hero tensed, preparing to fight, but it appeared he needn't be ready.  
  
The Goblin tossed the bomb through the door of the building.  A few moments later, it exploded, fire immediately leaping to take much of the old building.    
  
He turned back to Spiderman, twitching, muscles shaking.  
  
"I need to be killed."  
  
_Tell me about it_, was Spiderman's first thought, but he said nothing.  He had no idea what was going on.  
  
"I need to be killed for good."  
  
"Then I'll kill you," Spiderman hissed at him.  
  
A tremor shook the Goblin's body, and he pressed his hands back to his head.  "For good," he snarled.  "Can't be killed for –you can't kill –I won't—"  
  
More shudders ran through him.  
  
Spiderman began to wonder if something was seriously wrong here.  Had the Goblin really snapped?  Lost his twisted mind?  
  
The Goblin calmed, and said in a much different voice, "Peter, you can't kill me. I'll come back again, even stronger.  It has to be…permanent."  
  
He glanced toward Harry, who had been watching wide eyed from a short distance away.  "I…I…"   
  
A spasm shot through his body, and he suddenly lunged at Spiderman, who barely moved out of the way in time.  "What is wrong with you?!" he screamed.  
  
The Goblin turned toward him, started to lunge again, and stopped.  "The…G-g-g-gob – Goblin trying to get th-th-through – I can't control – "  
  
The realization hit Spiderman with the force of a sledgehammer.    
  
Mr. Osborn had multiple personality disorder.  
  
_He's trying to control it. Oh my God, that's what it's been all this time.  The voice change…everything…  
_  
"Mr. Os—"  
  
Osborn – the Goblin? -- forcibly shook his head, looking at Harry, who had drawn closer.  "I don't have much time," he said in a voice shifting between tones, switching between feelings.  Rage and pleading both spoke through the part raspy, part normal voice.  "I need to be killed permanently.  Something you c…c…couldn't heal from if you survived."  
  
Peter's mind had boggled.  "Mr. Os –".  He stopped himself.  "How did this happen?"  
"I…I can't explain it all.  Not even to myself.  I made a very stupid mistake – self experiment—"  
  
He stopped and clutched his head, screeching in pain. Spiderman jerked away in surprise.  The sound died quickly and Osborn calmed, shaking slightly.  "No time," he whispered.  "This is the end for me, whether I live or die.  I can't deal with this mentally anymore. Make sure I don't…don't make it out of there…because if I do survive, it won't be me anymore, not mentally."  
  
Peter's mind was blank for a moment.  Survive what?   
  
Osborn's eyes were on the inferno raging in the building behind him, and  Peter suddenly understood.  He intended to kill himself…to sacrifice himself.  Conflicting feelings tore through Peter.  The feeling of sweet revenge.  Happiness.  Terrible grief.  
Peter nodded slightly, overcome with emotion.  "I…I will," he said hoarsely.  "I'm so sorry that…that this happened to you…"  
  
    Osborn nodded slightly.  "Peter, I…" he choked off.  The eye visors snapped up suddenly, and he looked out at Peter with tormented blue eyes, eyes that were a hundred years old with pain and misery. The thought hit Peter once more, as it had the night Osborn had died the first time.  There was a man under that mask.  This was not some fairy tale creature, not some movie villain. This was a desperate man, a man who had let himself be driven to the extreme of insanity.   
  
"Peter, I am…I am so…s-sorry… for what I've done.  I don't have the words to explain how sorry I am…I meant what I said that night…I tried to stop it.  Couldn't."  He cut off again, and Peter could see the tears shimmering in his eyes.  "I pray…I pray that she'll be all right."  
  
    Peter nodded in anguish, wanting to hate the creature in front of him, but knowing it was now just a mask, no longer a reflection of the soul.  He could not find hate in his heart.  Only deep sorrow.  
  
Osborn stared down at his green clad body as though it were an alien creature.  Disgust and hatred flared in his eyes.  "I wish to God I could take this thing off right now," he whispered, tears still choking his voice. "But…" he trailed off, eyes on Harry.   
  
Harry had slipped up to stand beside Spiderman, and he was listening, listening with an expression of disbelief and shock.  Perhaps recognizing the voice…perhaps normal shock from the night's events…  
  
Harry's father slowly turned toward him. Their eyes locked for a moment, and nothing was said.  After a moment Norman spoke in a quiet voice, just as anguished as his eyes, "Harry, I…I knew your father.  He loved you more than you know…he was so sorry he never showed it like he wanted to.  He was always proud of you, even if…" He looked straight into Harry's eyes, eyes that were so much like his own, but younger. Eyes that didn't yet show the pain the world could inflict.  "Even if he lost sight of that somewhere."  
  
    An expression passed over Harry's face.  Recognition.  Then, horrible grief.  He stared into his father's eyes, searching them.  "Thank you," he whispered.  "I loved him, too."  
  
"Do not mourn forever.  Or hate forever.  Sell the company.  Move on with your life."  
    Harry nodded, tears in his eyes.  "I will."  
  
The Goblin – Mr. Osborn -- turned back to Spiderman.  "Remember," he said.  "I can't make it out. He'll….he'll try to fight me…I'll hold him back, but…just in case…"  
  
    Spiderman nodded, filled with unutterable sorrow for what had happened to this man.  
Osborn turned slowly and stood for a moment, looking down at the ground, stock still.   
 He seemed unable to move, and Peter could see him visibly shaking.  Harry began to step forward, but Peter threw an arm out in front of him.  His spider sense had begun to rise again.  It was clear to him that this was the Goblin standing a few feet away from him, shuddering. He didn't know if he could fight him after speaking to Mr. Osborn.  His words had rung true, and Peter needed no spider sense to tell him the depths of this man's torment.    
  
Norman finally began to walk toward the building, sometimes staggering a little.   
 Spiderman glanced at Harry, who was watching, eyes glittering, lips drawn back against his teeth in a suppressed cry.  Spiderman suddenly called out to the figure.  
  
    "I…I never told him."  
  
    Norman Osborn stopped and turned half way toward them.  "Thank you, Spiderman," he said in a voice barely audible above the noise of the fire.  "Thank you."  
  
Enemy and son of the Goblin stood and watched as the flames embraced the silhouette.  Tears glided down Harry's face, and Spiderman felt his own, warm on his cheeks.  He prayed the fire wasn't a prelude to Norman Osborn's afterlife.    
  
They stood and watched until the building began to collapse and the fire sirens began to rise and wail their mournful tune in the night.  Then, arms around each other, the best friends turned and walked into the night, heading for home.   
  



	9. Epilogue

A/N: Here it is. The final chapter. *sniffs* Finishing this fanfiction is like saying goodbye to a friend, and I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I thank all the readers who left such kind and insightful reviews, and hope that this ending meets your approval. Go ahead, read it, and be on the lookout for another story from me soon, a Spiderman/Batman crossover. Dare I mix Marvel and DC? I'll try.  Enjoy the conclusion to this story.  
  
  
  
  
      Peter went to the hospital the next morning, after receiving the call that MJ had come out of the coma and had been asking to see him.  
  
   When he walked into the room, her bed was raised so that she was in a sitting position.  Their eyes locked for a moment, and the joy he felt at seeing the color of her eyes again, the joy at seeing her eyes open brought tears to his own. Her hair was unwashed and messy, her face pale and bruised, and yet she had never looked more beautiful to him.   She opened her arms, silently imploring him to hug her.  He went to her without words and sat on the edge of the bed, putting his arms around her, feeling her arms around him. A few tears of joy and sorrow slid down his face as they embraced. She rocked him as a single sob shook him, born of the aftermath and irony.   
She had survived.  Mr. Osborn had not.   
  
   She pulled back after a moment.  "Peter," she whispered.  "I know who you are. And now I know…that all those times I wasn't sure if I loved Spiderman or Peter Parker, it was you. I love you, in both identities…nothing is ever going to change that.  Please…tell me if you love me, too…so I can know."  
  
_   What do you think your love feels for you? A hatred as strong as my own?  
_  
Peter gazed at her, eyes saying all she needed to know.  "MJ…I've always loved you.  I always will.  But how can you…how can you love me after what's happened to you because of me?"  
  
   "Because nothing changes love, Peter.  Please...be with me.  Say you'll be with me."  
  
   This time, their embrace became a kiss.       
  
  
  
  
   A few days later, Peter was standing in the cemetery again.  It was dusk once more, but this time, there was no storm.  The setting sun painted beautiful colors across the sky.  
  
   MJ had been discharged from the hospital.  Her bones would heal, her head trauma as well.    
  
   The building that had burned to the ground that night was being called "a freak accident from old wiring".  Due to the fact that no one had been in Oscorp for a while, there was to be no search for bodies.  
  
   Harry also knew his best friend's secret identity.  He had told Peter quietly that night on the way home.  He had said nothing about his father's first "death", but did not appear angry or hateful toward Peter.   Oscorp had been sold. He had been subdued the last few days, but Peter expected that.  The lines in Harry's face had deepened.  His eyes now carried the pained, tormented darkness, the expression that said he had taken the pain life had dished him out.   
  
He looked like his father.    
  
   If Harry ever guessed, or found out the truth about his father, he never said anything.  In fact he never mentioned that night, or anything about the Green Goblin ever again.   
  
   All was taken care of, so to speak.  Peter had gone to the cemetery that night after taking Harry home and filled in the grave, crying silently as he did so, mourning.  He did not mourn the Green Goblin.  He mourned the wreck of the man who had become the Goblin.  Peter had cared for Mr. Osborn without realizing it.  He had been another father figure to Peter.  Hate twisted within him at the injustice of the world.  So many deaths of close people…evil touched so many.  
  
   _Do not mourn forever.  Or hate forever.  
_  
   He let the hatred flow from him, washed away with pain. Pain would fade.  Hate would not.  Hate could destroy a man.  
  
   He had seen it destroy a man.  
  
_Do not mourn forever. Or hate forever.  
_  
Peter would carry those words within him for as long as he lived.  
  
He now stood before Norman Osborn's grave again.  "MJ's fine…" he said quietly. "She's out of the coma, and came home…" he trailed off before speaking again.  "I think Harry knows about…you…" Peter closed his eyes.  "He hasn't said anything.  I think he forgives you, if there's anything to forgive."  
  
   He swallowed hard.  "I forgive you, too."  
  
   He read the gravestone one more time.    
  
   _Norman Osborn 1949-2002 Loving father, He will live forever in the hearts of those who knew him.  
_  
   Peter said a silent prayer that he was finally at eternal rest. And a silent prayer for his soul.  
  
   As Peter Parker, the amazing Spiderman, the protector of the city, turned to leave the cemetery and go out into the darkness to perform his nightly deeds, something drew his eyes to the night sky. The next day, he would tell himself he hadn't really seen it, but standing in the cemetery, surrounded by darkness, with the cold wind blowing around him, he was unable to deny it.  As he gazed at the brightness of the city from the blackness of the cemetery, he thought he saw the dark shape soaring among the skyscrapers of New York City.  He strained his ears, listening carefully.  
  
A chill ran through him a moment later when carried on the cold winter wind came the ghostly echoes of familiar laughter  
  
  
  
_Finis_  



End file.
